Only Forever
by Random-Battlecry
Summary: She lost something in the depths of the Labyrinth and so did he. Can they join forces against the Goblin King? Or will a slight case of insanity get in the way? LabyPOTO crossover. COMPLETE.
1. Bespoke

**A/N: My first Labyrinth story— also a Phantom of the Opera story, since I do more of those than anything and it's a hard habit to kick. Please, if you liked it, or even if you didn't, leave me a review. Just for your peace of mind. :smile:**

**Chapter One: Bespoke

* * *

**

_...she came upon him lying there, and bespoke the words of madness; her tender care did convey the warmth of beginning, past the pale years gone by.

* * *

_

Once upon a time, there lived a young girl with a thousand pretend woes and too much time on her hands. She spent it mostly reading, a rather unusual thing for a girl her age, which was just this side of sixteen, and had already gathered much more information than was good for her. She had her own opinions about basically everything, and wasn't too shy to make them known. She had her own ideas about how the world should be run— some good, some bad, most misguided, all born of a generally optimistic heart and a slightly selfish mind. She believed in miracles, handsome strangers, knights in shining armor, wishes, peanut butter, making her bed, and stories that began with "Once upon a time."

Her name was Sarah.

She was tall for her age and with a sweet and wistful face that concealed nothing, no matter how hard she tried. To the casual observer she was perfectly normal in every respect except one— at the moment, she appeared to be reciting lines out of a book, which she had hidden up one broad sleeve. Every so often she would appear to forget the words, and have to dig the book out, accompanying the action with disgruntled muttering as she berated herself. Along with the words she tossed in a few violently theatrical motions of the arms, once nearly hitting an old lady who was passing by, and later on startling a flock of small birds. She persevered despite these setbacks, however, and eventually reached the ending of the story she was acting out. Clearly it was a good and properly dramatic one, and she went into it with serious features and misty eyes.

"Through dangers untold—"

There was a rustle in the grass behind her but she didn't look around.

"Through hardships unnumbered—"

A very tiny and upset voice said, "Would you please sit still!"

"I can't help it, she's standing on my tail!"

Sarah went on, oblivious to the voices near the ground at her feet. She did step forward, however, and there was a sigh of relief.

"I have fought my way to the castle beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child you have stolen—"

"Its an interesting story, isn't it?"

"Shhh!"

"For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great—"

The flow of words suddenly seemed to dry up, and Sarah stood still, a puzzled expression creeping over her face. "My kingdom as great—"

"Doesn't she know that repeating the words she does know won't help the words she doesn't know suddenly come back to—"

There was a tiny, unidentifiable sound that was, in fact, a furry paw clamping a furry snout shut.

Sarah sighed to herself and dug the book out again, thumbing through the pages. They were bent and dog-eared, testament to how often she had done this very thing. She found her place with little difficulty, ran a finger under a few lines, smiled to herself a little.

"You have no power—"

A few raindrops pattered over the pages, and she shot a glance up at the threatening sky. It responded by dropping more rain in her face, and she sputtered and shook her head. Closing the book quickly, she stuffed it back in her sleeve and headed for the trees. She had time, she could wait it out—

No. No, she couldn't.

Memory broke over her with punishing force, and she clapped a hand to her forehead and started to run. Late— over an hour late, she must be— she pelted down the path, heedless of the stares she was gathering from the people with umbrellas who clearly had been thinking ahead, a trait Sarah, like most right-minded people, found highly annoying.

It was a ten-minute run to her house from the park, and she completed it with all possible haste— but there was no way, short of time-travel, she could have managed to be punctual. She ran up the path only to find her stepmother waiting for her with folded arms and the dreaded Patient Expression. The Patient Expression meant she was in for a lecture, and immediately Sarah's defenses went up.

"I'm sorry!" she said.

Her stepmother sighed. "Sarah—"

"I said I'm sorry!"

"Sarah, please let me finish. Your father and I—"  
Sarah pushed past her into the house, kicking her shoes off with such force they hit the wall, leaving muddy marks on the wallpaper. She sucked in her breath, automatically sorry, but decided she wasn't going to care about it right then, and instead marched off towards her room. Her stepmother followed her, still talking and getting more upset by the minute.

"We don't go out that often, Sarah, and I would appreciate it if you—"

"You go out every weekend."

"I would appreciate it if you would put just a little effort into doing what we ask of you. We were only planning on being gone a few hours tonight—"

"What do you mean, planning?"

"Well, we're too late to go now."

"You mean you're not going? After I came home to watch the baby, you turn my taking the trouble into a completely pointless exercise in futility? Why do I bother?" Sarah flung her hands up and stomped into her room, slamming the door behind her.

There was the sound of discussion on the other side of the door, and then her father's voice.

"We're going to go after all, Sarah—"

"Figures!" she called back. "You would leave me when I'm so obviously upset."

Her father paused, and then went on, "We should be back before too late. Just make sure Toby is alright, he's already eaten—"

"Don't you think I know how to take care of my own brother? How old do you think I am, six?"

Another pause, and then her father's gentle voice went on, "We'll see you, Sarah."

Sarah sat down at her desk, retrieving the book from her sleeve and throwing it down. She put her elbow on the desk and leaned her forehead onto her hand, thoughtfully smoothing the edges of the book cover, tracing the gilded lettering of the title with her finger.

_**The Labyrinth **_

"Anything," she whispered to herself. "Anything but this."

There was silence in the house; her parents had gone. For a long time she sat and stared at the book, her eyes half-closed as she sank into a reverie. For a moment she found herself surrounded by the characters she saw only in her mind; they popped into life next to her, touched her hair, poked around her room, sat on the bench next to her, twined their arms around hers and leaned their foreheads on her shoulder. She smiled—

From the room across the hall came Toby's unmistakable wail, and Sarah's fantasy was abruptly and unpleasantly shattered. Toby had phenomenal lung power for a boy of one and a half years of age— once he got going he was apt to go all night. Sarah pushed herself to her feet and flung open her door, marching into her parents room where Toby stood in his crib, arms out, displaying a gap-toothed grin at his sister's entrance.

"Toby!" She spoke harshly, still irritated with her parents and more than slightly irritated with herself. "Don't cry, Toby, its obnoxious and annoying."

This, of course, made him start crying again. Sarah sighed and turned on her heels, ready to leave him to his own devices, but the thought of spending an hour listening to nonstop wailing was not attractive, and she turned to him once more, scooping him up in her arms and jiggling him on her hip.

"Shh—"

He kept crying. She shook him a little. This didn't help.

"You want a story? I'll tell you a story, Toby, if you stop crying. Okay. Listen. Once upon a time there was a beautiful young girl who was forced to work her entire life, cleaning the house and taking care of the her spoiled younger brother. Everyone thought she was just a normal girl, but what they didn't know was that the Goblin King had fallen in love with her. One day when she was tired from working and her brother wouldn't shut up, she called out to the Goblin King for deliverance, and he came and took the child away forever, and she lived happily ever after, the end."

This didn't help. Nothing helped. Finally she cried in frustration, "Toby, if you don't stop, I'll—"

This was where the hangup was. What could she do? He was only a child, after all.

The slight softening she felt towards the soggy, hiccuping face of her brother was destroyed by a renewal of the wail, and suddenly she knew what she would like to do.

"If you don't stop," she said slowly, "I'll ask the Goblin King to come and take you away."

The words sounded terrible and glorious, at the same time. She'd thought for years of what she could do, or would do, if she had the ear of the infamous Goblin King— but something in her held her back from ever speaking these things: fear of being thought foolish, perhaps. But now that she had said it out loud it seemed perfectly realistic, as though it could actually happen—

Perhaps that was what gave her chills up her spine. Then again, perhaps it was the breeze through the open window, which moved the curtains till they billowed like a ghost.

Toby, however, kept crying. Clearly he didn't believe her. So she held him up and she spoke clearly and distinctly.

And she said, "Goblin King, Goblin King— take this child far away from me!"

There was a stir around the room, though she didn't notice, and the same tiny voices from that afternoon in the park said, "What's she saying it like that for? That's not proper wishing."

"If she wants Him to listen, she had better say it right."

Sarah gazed into Toby's eyes, willing him to be silent. He gazed back, blinked slowly like a frog, opened his mouth wide and screamed, drooling on her in the process. She sighed sharply in disgust and put him back in the crib.

"I give up," she said. "Do what you want. I don't care anymore." She walked towards the door, wiping at her face, tears of frustration finally breaking.

The voices were having fierce discussions amongst themselves.

"After all that, she's going to walk away? She can't just—"

"Leave now? What bad—"

"Timing is everything, I think. And she hasn't—"

"Got it!" This voice sounded triumphant. The owner of it had been looking through a large manual that listed the proper ways for addressing various deities, entities, and personalities. "Listen to this. In order to make a request of the GOBLIN KING, namely JARETH, the GIRL, namely SARAH, must preface said request with the words 'I wish—' For best results the request should be stated clearly, in at least three different languages, between the hours of midnight and three in the morning and after a good meal—"

"I can't believe it."

"Why not? That's what it says."

"No, I can't believe she's giving up."

But Sarah paused at the door, half-turned to glance over her shoulder at the still room, the piercing voice of Toby still going at it. She reached for the light switch, and as she turned it off, said, quietly, "I wish He would come and take you away."

She took two steps into the hallway and stopped dead.

There was only silence, absolute and pristine.

* * *

Far away, voices were conversing, a meeting of minds, namely that of a ruler and His minions. 

_Why would you do something like that? _

_Because I can._

The words echoed around the empty spaces, where the wind howled like a wolf and cut keener than any knife. They bounced off rocks, and only rocks, because only rocks were there. Nothing grew in the vast emptiness, nothing lived; but the wind cried like a child, lost and far away, barely clinging to the hope that he would be rescued someday.

At the side of the castle, a door opened and a lone figure stepped out. Cloaked in darkness, he moved fluidly down the crooked path, footsteps soundless, only the slight hiss of breath marking him as living. Passing through an arched gateway, he paused and glanced back towards the window at the top of the castle, and light glinted briefly off the mask that covered half his face.

The voice came again, a whisper from sullen lips and hungry eyes.

_Because I can.  
_


	2. The Goblin King's Kindness

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! (and for bearing withtherandom bold and italics... ff dot net doesn't appear to like me verymuch)**

**I'm trying to mold this thing into its own story, and I have to say, all the dialogue that you might have recognized from the movie was from memory. When I started writing this, I hadn't watched the movie in probably four months or so. The storyline stays pretty close to the original for a bit, but gets unique and infinitely more complicated later on. Thanks, and please keep reviewing!**

**Chapter Two: The Goblin King's Kindness

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**

_...when she awoke, she saw the eyes glowing in front of her, daring her to breathe, to move, to make a sound. She could only stare, drawn into His gaze, and did not even blink as He stepped forward into the light...

* * *

_

"Toby?"

The silence frightened her. It had happened so abruptly; Toby was not known for changes of heart when he settled down for a good crying session. She turned back, stepped into the room, reached for the light switch.

The power had gone out.

"Toby?"

Nothing.

Silence.

A flutter of sound from underneath the bed that made her whirl and jump, but there was nothing there. She turned to the crib, where moments before Toby had stood, his face twisted with childish grief. He was not there.

He wasn't in the crib at all, and she knew it.

She stepped towards it anyway, reaching with trembling fingers for the covers, to draw them back and find out for sure. She inched them back— there was, of course, no way he could be there underneath—

As indeed he wasn't.

Lightning flashed outside the door and all she could think for one thunderstruck moment was _My mom is going to kill me!_

Then the noise came again, and this time she knew it was not her imagination, for it lingered, resounded, echoed, and increased. For the life of her she could not determine its source— it seemed to be everywhere and nowhere, all around her, right in front of her, just behind her, underneath her feet, above her head, out the window, inside her— she caught movements just at the corners of her eyes, which frightened her more than if she had seen anything definite. The noise, the movement, the flurries of action and distraction, pounded at her sanity till she began to hyperventilate; she'd never felt so vulnerable.

A split second before she screamed, the wind blew in at the open window, catching at the curtains and pushing them at her, till they reached for her like the clutching hands of ghosts. With the wind came the fluttering of wings, and a large owl rushed in, diving at her head and beating her face with its wings. As large as the bird was, as ferocious as its attack seemed to be, still the feathers felt like soft caresses against her cheeks, the talons golden curves held mere inches away from her eyes.

She threw her hands up and turned away, and when she looked back the owl was nowhere to be seen; in its place, there stood the tall and stern figure of a man.

He was the most striking person she'd ever seen, tall and well-shaped, eyes direct— the first impression she had was of royalty, someone used to getting what he wanted, someone who assumed ownership of all that he saw. She looked into his eyes and shivered at the word she saw there, as clearly as if he'd spoken it—

_Mine._

She gulped a few times.

"You— you're him, aren't you— the Goblin King?"

He gave an elegant bow. "The same, milady."

"And you— what did you do with him?"

One eyebrow arched, he lifted his chin and looked at her sideways. "Him?" he repeated. His voice was melodic, deep, and faintly mocking.

"My brother— Toby— my little brother. You took him— where is he?"

"I believe you know where he is. You needn't worry about him any longer— he will be well taken care of."

"Please, bring him back!"

He stepped sideways, away from her, began to stalk around her, looking her up and down. "It was you who asked me to take him, I may remind you— I should think you'd be grateful."

"I didn't mean it!"

"Oh, you didn't?" he said softly. "Were you never taught to say what you mean, and mean what you say? A bit of a cliche, but a useful one at that. You know about cliches, do you not— do as I say, not as I do— nothing is what it seems— They become cliches for a reason, you see. There's so much truth to them."

"I spoke rashly," she said. Her habit of speaking in a formal manner was kicking in; and here was a circumstance where it seemed appropriate. "I would beg your forgiveness, and ask you to bring him back."

He came around to the front of her again, bent close to her and spoke in a voice laced with quiet but undeniable menace. "Were I to bring him back, Sarah, it would not be forgiveness you need to beg— but mercy."

She blinked large green eyes at him, stumbling for something to say. No man had ever come this close to her; it unnerved her and thrilled her simultaneously.

"Its not that I don't appreciate the— the kindness—"

"Sarah." He spoke firmly now, as an adult would to a recalcitrant child. "Go back to your room, to the world you so often inhabit— play with your toys. Pretend this never happened. And forget about the baby."

It was advice, his eyes let her know— she would do well to take it.

For a moment she wavered; his voice was smooth and convincing, easy to listen to, easier to obey.

But then she shut her mouth firmly, and looked at him with determined eyes.

"I can't."

And she meant it.

He sighed, and his warm breath stirred her hair. Excitement trickled cold fingers down her spine.

"I warn you," he said, "he will not be easy to find."

"I don't care."

He looked at her for a long moment, then stepped away; she saw in front of her a vast expanse of twisting, diverging walls; beyond that, an area of greenery like a dense forest; and beyond that, on a rise, far off in the distance, a shining, glimmering thing that glinted in the sunlight and was impossibly beautiful.

"Is that— the castle? The castle beyond the Goblin City?"

"So it would appear," came his voice from just behind her ear. She dared not turn and look at him; there was such disappointment in that voice. Perhaps things would be better if she just gave up now, turned around and left the room. She could, she knew— it wasn't too late.

But it soon would be.

"Are you decided, then?" he asked softly.

She hesitated, then nodded.

"Very well," he said, with another sigh. With a gesture of his finger, a clock appeared to one side, ornate, ancient, and supported only on thin air. The numbers went to thirteen— the hands looked like claws, curved and golden. "You have thirteen hours to find your way through the Labyrinth, before your brother becomes one of us forever. I would wish you good luck—"

She looked at him. Their eyes met and time took a breath.

"But I never say things I don't mean," he said, and faded out of view.

She stood for another moment, staring at the place he'd been, and then at the clock; suddenly she realized that the second hand was moving, and that time was passing her by.

She turned towards the Labyrinth, and squared her shoulders.

"I wish," she said aloud, "that I could think of something dramatic to say. It would seem best—"

Nothing, however, came to mind, and instead she started walking.

It was a slight slope, lined with barren and stunted trees, that led to the outer wall of the Labyrinth. She tripped down it as quickly as she could, her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her. The stones looked positively archaic— she wondered to herself how long it had been there, and who had built it. Had the Goblin King ruled over it since its genesis— had it, indeed, come into existence when he had? Was it dependent on him?

Wrapped in thought, she nearly stumbled over the figure that sat, enveloped in a cloak, twenty five feet away from the outer wall. She recovered, observed the grunt that came from the figure, and began apologizing, before something struck her as strange.

She could not see face— or hands— or feet— only a figure, cloaked in darkness. It startled her immensely. As she watched in the beginnings of horror, the part of the figure that must be the head turned towards her, and she saw the glimmerings of a paleness that was totally inhuman, and in the midst of it, yellow eyes glittering at her with undeniable malice.


	3. The Joining of Forces

**Chapter Three: The Joining of Forces**

_In her darkness she was joined by the most hideous creature she'd ever seen— so hideous, indeed, that he was very nearly beautiful to look upon, and she was forced to turn her eyes away, to keep her sanity and dignity in place..._

The voice that came to her ears was so beautiful as to make her weep, but at the moment, filled with irritation.

"Did your mother nor your father ever tell you it is impolite to stare?"

Sarah gaped slightly.

"And equally impolite to kick someone—"

"I— er, I said I was sorry."

"Perhaps next time," said the voice icily, "you will kindly watch where you're going. Merely a suggestion."

"I— well, I _am_ sorry."

The glimmer that must be his eyes stared at her for another moment, then turned away as the figure hunched its— his— shoulders and returned to contemplating the ground. Sarah stood for another moment and stared, despite the fact that it was, apparently, impolite.

"I— I'm sorry to bother you— sir? But I was wondering—"

He turned back to her with a swiftness that made her jump.

"Yes?"

"Wondering if you could help me?" She cleared her throat. "Its just, I was looking for the entrance of the Labyrinth— and I couldn't see it. I wondered— um— do you know where it is?"

He stared at her.

Then he said, "Yes," and turned his attention back to the ground. He managed to convey the thought that the ground was far, far more interesting than she was or ever could be; she didn't appreciate that.

"Well, could you show me?"

"It is a physical possibility," he said, "yes."

She waited a moment, but he didn't move.

"Well— will you?"

The figure sighed, and then with startling swiftness, got to his feet. He proved to be a man, as far as she could tell— the voluminous cloak, night-black, was swathed around his body, reaching his ankles, with his hands enveloped in the folds, out of sight. The hood was pulled up over his head, so again, all she could make out was that glimmer of white in the shadows. But as he walked forward, he was proved undeniably a human man, tall and lanky and thin, and she was thankful to have that certainty at least.

"Why should I help you?" he asked finally. "What would you give me in return?"

She tried frantically to think of something.

"I don't know— I suppose I'd just have to owe you."

She couldn't tell for sure, but she got the impression that he was glaring at her.

"Owe me?"

"Yes. A favor. All I can give is my promise to repay you when I can, if you help me."

Another moment, and then he nodded.

"A worthy investment, indeed," he said smoothly. "May I direct you towards the gate, mademoiselle?" He extended an arm, and one long finger pointed at the wall just behind her.

Sarah turned. "But there's nothing—"

The words died away on her lips. Where there had been blank brick, a few minutes ago, there was now a large and ornate gate, moss-covered and rusted. She stared at it.

"But there was nothing there!"

The man's voice was undeniably sardonic. "Clearly, you have never navigated the Labyrinth before."

"No, I haven't." She peered at him. "Have you?"

"I have made the attempt, several times."

"Do you know the way to the Goblin City?"

He paused. "I have been there, yes."

"And do you know the Goblin King?"

"The Goblin King— ah, the one the natives refer to as Jareth, yes? No, I don't believe I can say I've had the pleasure, if it is a pleasure. Have you?"

"Yes," she said definitely, shivering slightly. "He took my brother— and I only have a short time to find my way to the castle beyond the Goblin City and rescue him."

"Is that so?" The voice was now thoughtful.

Sarah nodded, looking desperately at the Labyrinth in front of her. It did not look in the least hospitable.

"As a matter of fact," said the man, "this Goblin King has something that belongs to me, as well; I have been attempting to find it. I have been assured it was last seen in his domain, and have wandered here for many years, looking for it. I don't suppose—" The gaze now seemed to be speculative as he looked at her. "Perhaps it is a way you could repay me, mademoiselle. Should you find this Jareth, I would count on you to persuade him to return my possession to me."

"Is it important to you?" she asked.

He nodded slowly. "As important, as precious, as the air that I breathe— as life itself."

She nodded back.

"I'd do everything I could."

A long pause followed while he considered this.

"I suppose I could ask nothing more," he said at last.

She stuck out her hand then, determined to befriend this man, if he could help her get her brother back.

"My name is Sarah," she said.

He hesitated, then pushed his hood back. The face now revealed was startling, to say the least— composed of elegant planes, strong bones, a curving scar, newly-healed on his left cheek, and the glimmering, pristine whiteness of a half-mask on his right. His eyes, black-lashed and appearing ancient, were yellowish and direct as he looked at her.

He took her hand, bent over it, and brushed the barest whisper of a kiss over her knuckles.

"My name," he said, "is Erik."


	4. Wyrm

**A/N: Thank you guys for great reviews! I probably won't be updating as quickly as I have been, from now on. Trying desperately to rein myself in... (thumps self on the forehead) Anyway. Continue to review, cuz... that makes me happy. :)**

**Chapter Four: Wyrm**

_Abandoned in the dark, she felt more alone than ever she had done; she discovered a direction in which to go, and clung to the wall that led that way. She walked on for hours before discovering that the wall was, in fact, facing the other way, and she had been walking backwards, getting nowhere..._

Sarah walked forward into the Labyrinth, conscious of the stalking presence of Erik just behind her. He moved much more surely than she did, avoiding the twisted roots and tumbled stones that made up the Labyrinth's floor, even as she tripped over them, managing, but just barely, not to fall. As she crossed through the arched gateway, she stumbled again, this time enough to fall completely.

Erik stood above her, looking down with impassive yellow eyes.

"This is not a promising beginning."

"Gee, sorry," she said sarcastically, pushing herself up and brushing herself off. Her billowing white sleeve had caught on a twig, ripping up the centre. "Can't help it if I'm human enough to trip over objects in my path."

He stared down at her.

"If you're going to be disrespectful, we can cease this working relationship right now."

She opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again. Erik nodded slowly at her.

"That's what I suspected."

Sarah crossed her arms and stared about her at the interior of the Labyrinth. The inside was no more prepossessing than the out. Impossibly tall brick walls, dirt-encrusted and shiny with minuscule bits of isinglass, the grey-blue of the sky a thin strip far, far above, the corridors stretched out on either side of her seemingly forever, sounds echoed strangely, Erik's voice caught in nooks and crannies and returned vastly changed, odd to the ears, entwined with whispers from invisible beings. She shivered.

"There's no way forward! These corridors go on forever!"

"Is that so?" The sardonic tone had returned to Erik's voice, if indeed it had ever left. "You know so much about it, one would think you had been here before. And yet I distinctly recall your saying you never had."

She leaned against the brick and spread her arms to either side. "Look at it. It looks exactly the same both ways, and I can't see any turns or anything, anywhere."

"Perhaps you just don't know the correct way to look," he suggested lightly.

"Fine, then, you've been here before, you tell me which way to go." She folded her arms again.

He turned his head from side to side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I don't suppose anyone has mentioned to you that the Labyrinth is an Inconstant— that means it can change at any minute, and likely does. It alters almost constantly, and has no stable state, no set pattern. I would defy anyone to find their way without making a mistake— perhaps even Jareth himself."

Sarah's jaw dropped.

"Do you mean to tell me that after we made that deal, and you were intending to help me, that you can't?"

"To a certain extent— yes."

She shook her head, overcome with a sudden, intense feeling of betrayal. "But I thought—"

"Regardless of what you thought," said Erik, his heavy-lidded golden eyes boring into her, "I can do no more than is possible. Would you ask the impossible of me? There is little potential for or prospect of success when making your way through the Labyrinth— I offer what help I can give. It is not much, and if you thought it was more than it actually is— well, that would be your mistake, then, not mine."

She gritted her teeth in a sudden access of anger at him, unconsciously clenching her fists.

"Look, I don't know just who you think you are, but I have to find my brother, and I'm not letting anyone get in the way. If you can help, fine, if you can't, then you can just leave."

He stood still, then swept her a bow.

"As mademoiselle wishes," he said, and melted into the interior of the Labyrinth, apparently disappearing through a wall.

Sarah gaped at the place where he had been.

Slowly, her brain managed to get a few messages through to her mouth, and she said, "Fine! I don't need your help! I'm doing just fine on my own!"

But, quite clearly, he was gone. At the edges of her hearing, lurking like a predator, she heard laughter, echoing back to her so faint and faraway that she couldn't be sure if its source was Erik or if it came from the walls themselves.

She whirled away and, for lack of anything definite to do, began to run.

She ran for as long as she could manage; it wasn't long, perhaps seven minutes or so. But in all that time, there was only the long, straight stretch that she had come into upon first entering the Labyrinth. She turned and cast a despairing glance back at where the gate had been— she couldn't distinguish any difference in the walls from where she was. She told herself it was just the distance— but from her perspective, it looked as though there were no gate; only endless, impenetrable brick.

This scared her rather badly, and, overcome with a combination of claustrophobia and frustration, she banged her fists on the wall in front of her, shouted aloud, kicked one of the stunted little trees by her feet, and finally slumped down, back against the brick, and buried her head in her hands.

A tiny voice from just beneath her elbow said, "Problem?"

This scared her even worse.

She jumped, and let out a startled shriek, looking around with wild eyes. She looked up, looked down, looked behind and in front of her, and it was a tense few seconds until she discovered the source of the voice.

It was a small worm, about the size of her pointer finger, with a shock of blue hair and bright golden eyes looking up at her with curiosity.

"Er— yes?" she said.

The worm blinked. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Telling," said Sarah, and tried to believe that meeting talking worms was an everyday occurrence. She limited herself to marveling that it had a working class British accent instead of, say, a French one.

It didn't work.

"You— you're a worm, aren't you?"

"A wyrm," said the worm— or wyrm— self-importantly.

"Isn't that what I said?"

"No, you said 'worm,' as in your common, everyday nightcrawler. I am a wyrm— descended from dragons, I am, raised by chameleons, taught by fire salamanders, surprised by gimlets."

"Gimlets?"

"Gimlets," said the wyrm, definitely.

"What are gimlets?"

"I don't know," said the wyrm, with the tiniest shrug, "that's why I was surprised by them."

"I see," said Sarah, though she didn't. "Do you happen to know the way through the Labyrinth?"

"Who, me? No, I'm just a wyrm."

"Oh," said Sarah, and slumped back down.

"Tea?" suggested the wyrm. "I'll wash a cup out for you."

"No thank you," said Sarah. "I have to find a way to rescue my brother."

"Ah, yes? And what's the holdup, luv?"

Not odd, Sarah told herself strictly. Being called luv by a talking wyrm, not odd at all. She took a deep breath.

"I've been running for hours— it feels like it anyway— and there aren't any turns or openings or anything, it just goes straight on forever and ever!"

"No it doesn't!" the wyrm contradicted her cheerfully. "There's openings all over the place. You just have to know where to look."

Sarah blinked at him, then looked around her again, examining her surroundings with, she thought, a especially keen and incisive eye.

"No there's not."

"Yes there is."

"No there's—"

"Yes there is."

She sighed. "No, there—"

"Yes there is."

Talking, _arguing_ wyrm. Not odd in the least.

"Where, then?" she finally asked, exasperated.

"There's an opening right in front of you!" said the wyrm, blinking at her in a kindly manner.

Sarah looked.

"No there isn't."

"Yes there is."

"N—" She stopped herself before she prolonged the argument; the wyrm, who clearly enjoyed it, waited for her to argue, his mouth open. Instead, she stood up and stepped forward.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course! But never mind that, come inside, have some tea, meet the missus. She's a bit drunk at the moment, but—"

She stepped forward, arms out, waiting to be stopped by the brick.

But she was stopped, as it turned out, by nothing.

She stepped straight through the wall, turning with amazed eyes to look to either side, discovering that the entrance was cleverly concealed by virtue of the walls all being exactly identical. When walking, or in her case, running, by them, it was impossible to tell the difference between the wall of her corridor, and the wall of the next one. A smile broke over her face and she walked forward. She could see in the distance, a sort of green section, perhaps plants; at any rate a change from the brick. She called a thank you over her shoulder, and walked on, suddenly hearing the tiny voice of the wyrm behind her.

"_Don't go that way_!"

"What?" She turned and came back, searching slightly before locating where the entrance was. The wyrm blinked urgently at her.

"Don't go that way!"

"No? Oh, alright. Look, thank you— that was the first really helpful thing anyone's done for me thus far." She saluted cheerfully to the wyrm, waved a little, and ran on, the other way.

The wyrm watched her go, generations of dragon genealogy displaying themselves in the wisp of fire and smoke that accompanied a slight burp. He shook his head.

"If she'd have kept going that way," he said to himself, "she'd have gone straight to that castle."


	5. Turnabout

**Chapter Five: Turnabout**

_...flummoxed as she was, she became suddenly steeped in the suspicion that there was a deeper, darker, more mischievous mischief at work here than she had previously supposed— it was sourced in the sudden, apparently spontaneous, proliferation of words beginning with S— _

Deep inside the bowels of the castle where the Goblin King reigned, felonious plans were being put into action, miscellaneous objects were mysteriously appearing or disappearing, extra limbs spontaneously combusted, people grew new heads to replace old ones, songs were sung, and a tiny bit of evil in the world was replaced with a cheerful devilry; all this as a matter of course, for whilst Jareth was in residence, his very presence set everything in motion, and the entire Labyrinth, Goblin City, and castle were all self-sustaining, feeding off his desire for trouble and confusion and general mischief. His minions played cards around rickety tables, his cleaning staff slept off their hangovers in wheelbarrows and buckets, his lackeys stole the silver, and love was in the air— or rather, more specifically and accurately, love was in the small room just behind the throne, which was never locked. The key had been lost long ago, and the frequenters of it were used to coming (and going) as they pleased.

Jareth himself, having returned from his sojourn in Sarah's world, was now seated on his ornate throne; made of the bones of some archaic beast, and covered in a the thick brown fur of a grizzly bear, it was exceedingly comfortable, and he would not have had it any other way. He sprawled lengthwise across it, one knee bent, his eyes upturned to the ceiling, his fingers tapping against each other in a steeple that suggested deep and serious thought.

Eventually he said, "We shall have to have the roof repainted."

All noise in the throne room immediately ceased, and dozens of goblin faces turned towards him expectantly. Jareth stared upwards for a few more seconds before looking around, mildly surprised.

"No, that's it," he said. "That's all I was going to say."

His subjects relaxed slightly and went about their business.

"Although," said Jareth, and the same thing happened. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to him.

He frowned.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, still staring upwards.

"No, that's it," he said finally.

Once again, the rustle and bustle returned. They were quite used to this pattern. It occurred every day, several times; every time, in fact, that Jareth opened his mouth, whether he be ordering an execution or requesting a toothpick.

Jareth observed the everyday rituals of goblin life that were going on in front of and behind him, and was bored.

Finally he said, "Bring me the baby."

Their attention returned once more to their beloved ruler, the baby was brought forth, and Jareth took him into his arms, bouncing him up and down in the air as though weighing him like a sack of potatoes, looking him over with a critical eye.

"He does not in the least," he said aloud, "resemble his older sister."

Gamstrung, a goblin who was seated on the wide arm of the throne, ventured, "He is a baby, sire— they're all ugly at that age."

"Everyone is entitled to be ugly at some point in their lives," declared Jareth. He paused, and glanced around at the goblin faces surrounding him. "Granted, some people abuse this privilege."

The goblins tittered and pointed fingers at each other.

Jareth eyed them, and sat the baby on his lap decisively.

"She shan't get you back again," he told Toby. "I've taken you, and she shan't get you back."

"But sire," hazarded a rather fool-hardy little goblin named Pratchett, "the baby does belong to the girl—"

Jareth turned his searing glare on the unfortunate Pratchett, whose hat burst into flames on his head. With amusement in his eyes, the Goblin King watched the creature dance around, yelling excitedly, until someone dumped a bottle of whiskey over his head, upon which the rest of him caught on fire.

"All property is theft," said Jareth, "except mine."

This was taken as a new law, indeed, it sounded very much like the old one; however, that didn't stop Jareth's compulsive secretaries from scribbling down every word on dirty notepads, with cracked and chewed pencil stubs. Jareth turned his attention back to the baby.

"Its only a matter of time, after all," he said. "There is—"

He glanced at the clock.

"Ten hours, twenty three minutes. Just that, left to go till you belong to me rightly and legally and unchangeably. Lets see her navigate the Labyrinth in such a short time."

He laughed in derision, and then motioned to the goblins until they laughed as well. There was nothing Jareth enjoyed more than a good laugh, unless it was seeing someone catch on fire, which often led to a good laugh (on his part) and so, really, there was nothing Jareth enjoyed more than a good laugh.

However, the wheels in his brain were turning, and presently he pulled on Gamstrung's beard and instructed him, "Send for Turnabout."

"Send for Turnabout!" shouted Gamstrung.

"Send for Turnabout!" shouted the secretary, and the cry was echoed through to the back of the castle, where Turnabout lay sleeping.

He left his nest and then his room, closing the door behind him and securing the enormous padlock, before making his way into the throne room. He stepped forward into Jareth's presence, bowing deeply, sweeping his hat off his head, revealing pointed, furry ears and letting long black hair fall into his face.

"Your Majesty wishes my presence?"

Jareth watched the crystal he was manipulating in his hand.

"The Labyrinth has been in good working order for many years," he said. "It changes every few minutes, and is enough to confound any normal person."

Turnabout waited silently.

"And yet," said Jareth, "I sense that that will not be enough."

Swinging his legs down in front of him, he sat up straight and began to declaim,

"Spirit of the Labyrinth,

Labyrinthine sprite

Curse the one I

Love tonight

Bind her feet with

Twisted tales

Close doors, gates, walls

Fight tooth and nail

Prevent the onward

Surge of strength

Provide me with a

Source of angst

Trip her up and

Tie her down

Keep her from

My Goblintown— "

Turnabout raised one hand, the long fingers ending in curved golden claws. He held it out, in a cease-and-desist gesture.

"The poetry," he said in his silky voice, "really is not necessary."

Jareth cocked his head. "But it adds such dimension to one's commands, don't you find?"

"I suppose so," said Turnabout politely. "Not being in a position of power myself, I would not be by way of knowing."

Jareth leant forward, his hands by his knees, supporting his weight on his palms. He frowned slightly and chewed his lower lip. "I see. Well, may I say, Turnabout, that should you assist me in this manner— I will see my way clear to putting you in a very powerful position indeed."

Turnabout's pointed ears perked up.

"Say— royalty?" suggested Jareth gently.

Turnabout swept another deep bow, sharp white teeth gleaming in a grin.

"I shall strive to do everything I can," he said. "And you well know it is what I am best at."

Jareth nodded, smiling slightly. "I do indeed, my fair Turnabout. Off you go then."

Another bow as Turnabout left the room, replacing his hat on his head and pulling it low over slanted green eyes, off to do the bidding of his master.

Behind him, the castle began to ring with the laughter of a hundred voices.

* * *

**A/N: I started a blog::sets off firecrackers and throws confetti: The general purpose of it is to have a place to answer my readers, and also let them know if I should, ahem, decide to ruthlessly rip a story off this site, or just stop writing something... not that I'd do that, of course. No. Anyway. The address will be on my author's bio page, and I'd love it if you'd read the thing and leave a comment, even!**

**h t t p / w w w . l i v e j o u r n a l . c o m / u s e r s / r a n d o m b a t t l e c r y**


	6. A Door To Certain Death

**Chapter Six: A Door To Certain Death

* * *

**

"_I realize how this must sound," she said, "and that it is simultaneously melodramatic and rather silly, but— I'm scared to death of dying." _

"_Yes," said her companion gravely, "it does sound silly."

* * *

_

Sarah walked on through the Labyrinth, taking in the various changes of landscape, textures of the walls, materials of the floors, colors of the sky, patterns in the air. She found a few more hidden openings and took them without hesitation, congratulating herself on her cleverness.

She came to a section of irregularly-tiled floor, a wider space, full of columns. On each of the column was a hand, a finger extended, each pointing in a different direction. Sarah frowned at them, venturing closer to examine one in particular. It seemed to point straight at a wall, and looked entirely lifelike. She bent closer to it in order to inspect it; and suddenly the fingers bunched together and the hand flicked her on the nose.

She shrieked and stumbled backwards. There was a sharp burst of derisive laughter from behind her.

She turned, catching, out of the corner of her eye, a flash of black that looked like a cape. Perhaps, she thought, it was Erik, come back. But it did not move like Erik—

The prospect of it being someone else frightened her a bit, and so she put it out of her mind.

The laughter, anyway, seemed to be coming from two guardsmen who stood, playing gatekeeper to two ornate, wrought-iron doors. She ventured closer to them; they stared blankly at her, eyes straight ahead. They did not look likely to laugh at her.

"Excuse me," she said, "did you just— laugh at me?"

The guards' eyes shifted as they glanced sideways at each other. One of them wrinkled his nose and issued a slight sneeze.

"No," he said.

Sarah frowned.

"Are you sure? I was positive I heard laughing."

"Not us," said the other guard.

Sarah narrowed her eyes at them, then turned her backs to them. Immediately there came another burst of merriment, and she whirled around and strode forward.

"I know I heard it that time! You're laughing at me, aren't you?"

"Not us, not us!" said the first guard, waving his hands. His body seemed to be hidden behind a large shield, above which his head peeked out slightly, revealing only a bit of his neck and his hands. He tapped his claws on the shield and wriggled his nose again with another sigh.

Sarah frowned.

"Who, then?"

A head popped out from underneath each of the shields, and two voices called in chorus, "We did it! We did it!"

Sarah stepped back, but managed to keep from crying out in her surprise. It was about time, she felt, that she was past that. She stared at the four faces that peered at her with identical expressions of amused curiosity.

"Who are you?"

"That depends," said the first. "Who are you?"

She frowned. "Sarah."

"That's what I thought," said the first, and wrinkled his nose. Sarah put her hands on her hips.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Out of all the people wandering the Labyrinth at the moment," interjected the second, "only one of them doesn't know enough to keep out of reach of the Pointers. Unless you like being flicked."

"Always a possibility," said his companion from underneath him.

"There are other people in the Labyrinth?" inquired Sarah, worried by this news.

"Several," said the first. "Or, some, at least."

"A few."

"Three."

"You, and two others."

She opened her mouth to ask who, then decided it was not worth it. Undoubtedly, Erik was one of the others, and at the moment she did not care to hear about him. He could make his own way. Instead, she said, "What about these doors? Are you guarding them?"

They looked at each other.

"We're guardsmen," said the second, "so— yes?"

"What are you guarding them from?"

The second one sneezed as a fly landed on his nose. "Whose to say that we are guarding them from anything?"

"Perhaps we're guarding you," said the first. "Guarding you from them."

Sarah crossed her arms. "Where do they lead?"

"Now you ask a direct question," said the first Underneath guardsman, looking up at her. "You expect us to answer that, do you?"

"If you would be so kind," said Sarah.

"Well, I can't."

"What? Why not?"

"I don't know the answer!" he said.

Sarah sighed and her shoulders slumped. "Now what do I do?" she asked.

The four guardsmen watched her, their noses twitching simultaneously.

"You might try," said the first Underneath, kindly, "asking one of the others."

Sarah blinked at him, then glanced at the Above guardsmen, who smiled at her. "I didn't think of that!"

"That's your trouble then," said the first Above, "not knowing when to think and when not to think. Its vitally important that you realize which is which, otherwise your airplane banana might trip on the clenched wire wrench sparrow in shallow petunias."

The second one pointed at the first and said, triumphantly, "See! Not thinking! That's where not thinking gets you!"

"Alright," said Sarah after a slight pause. "Where do they go, then?"

"What?" asked the second one, brightly.

"The doors."

"What doors?"

"Those doors!" She sighed. "Look, I'll start again. Tell me where those doors lead to. Please?"

"Right then!" said the first. "One of them leads to the castle, and the other one leads to— drumroll please—"

The three others drummed on the shield with their claws.

"Thank you— certain death!"

They all made, "Oooooooh," noises. Sarah frowned slightly.

"How do I tell which is which?"

They blinked at her.

"Alright," she said. "Tell me which is which."

"We should warn you before we speak," said the first, in a cautionary tone, "that one of always lies, and one of us always tell the truth. It's the rules."

"Exactly," said the second. "The rules. I always tell the truth. He always lies."

"That's not true! I tell the truth!"

"Liar."

"You're the liar!"

"Oooh, what a lie!

The Underneath guardsmen snickered to themselves, adding to Sarah's confusion. She put her fingers to her temples and frowned in concentration.

"Alright, look, look," she said, cutting short the discussion and the laughter. She faced the first one. "Would he tell me that his door leads to the castle?"

The first one frowned, wiggled his nose, and consulted in a hushed whisper with his Underneath companion. Then he looked back at Sarah.

"Yes," he said.

Sarah nodded. "Then— then the other door leads to certain death, and this one leads to the castle."

They all made appreciative noises.

"How do you figure? He could be telling the truth!"

"But then you would be lying. So the answer would be no."

"Oh yes? But suppose I was telling the truth."

"But then he would be lying. So the answer would still be no."

There was snickers from the Underneath guardsmen and the Above ones glanced at each other.

"Is that right?"

"I don't know!" said the second one, shrugging rapidly. "I've never understood it!"

"No, its right," said Sarah. "I know it is."

She stepped up to the door determinedly and squared her shoulders. A smile crossed her face. "I can't believe it. I've never been able to answer riddles before! I think I'm getting smarter!"

The guardsmen watched her open the door, shrugging to herself.

"Pity," said the second one, "I rather liked her."

"Too trusting," said the first one. "Its naive to believe that just because someone is telling you the rules, they aren't simply making it up as they go along."

But Sarah was too far gone to hear, advancing down the path, the happy smile still on her face.

The ground gave out beneath her.

She fell.

* * *

**Once again... h t t p / w w w . livejournal . com / users / randombattlecry /**


	7. Oubliette

Chapter Seven: Oubliette

The darkness was complete, exact, vivid, breathing, alive. It caught her in a cold embrace, passing her from hand to hand as she tumbled for what seemed to be forever; end over end, head over heels, hair flying and clothes rippling in the wind.

She was too surprised at first to even scream; and then, as she continued falling, she was too frightened of landing; and then, as she fell further, it became slightly boring.

She reminded herself that, if she had read Jareth correctly, she would not be allowed to die. Cruel and mischievous he might be, but when one is in love, one does not kill off the object of one's affection.

Usually—

Panic rose in her again and choked at her throat. She fell deeper into the bowels of the earth, wondering at the darkness—

She realized suddenly that she had her eyes closed.

With a great effort of will, she forced them open, and now she saw windows. Windows in the wall, leading to she knew not where— there was scant light coming from each of them, but gradually, as she fell past them, she made out shapes that moved on the other sides, and even more gradually, she realized she was looking into people's lives.

Some were fascinating; others, less so. A few were the saddest things she'd ever seen, far sadder than she'd ever dreamt of: a lonely man knelt by his window, praying to the stars for someone to guide him; a young woman clutched a ragged button-up, the scent of her dead father still clinging to it as she wet it with her tears; a grandfather, too old to start over again, receiving news of the death of his entire family in one horrific accident. The pale light from these windows reached out to Sarah, calling on her compassion to make her sympathize, empathize, pity and despair. Such small moments, fleeting and fugitive glimpses that made her feel like an intruder.

She shut her eyes again, not knowing that it was part of the Goblin King's bag of tricks.

She shut her eyes, and shut them tight, and wished for the ground to come up and meet her.

She got her wish.

Beneath her, a rusted, moss-covered grate opened up, the latch undid itself to open for her like a mouth. She fell through and landed in a mushroom cloud of dust and dirt. She'd landed on the ground, and in her shock at the landing and subsequent puzzling over how she'd managed not to be hurt, she missed the grate clanging shut with the sound of finality.

It took her all of five minutes to realize that she was in a room with no way out.

Waves of claustrophobia broke over her and her breath came fast. She hit at the walls, beat them with her fists, and suddenly there was a voice from behind her.

"What are you doing?"

She whirled around and stared with wide eyes at the darkness.

"Who's there?"

"Its only me." The voice was familiar, silky and beautiful; but she remained panicked even as Erik stood forward into the shaft of wan light that came from the grate above.

He tilted his head at her.

"Problem?" he inquired.

"There's no way out," she said, swallowing hard as she said the words; it made her situation no less worrying to have said it aloud.

One eyebrow raised. "Is that so? How do you explain my presence, then, I wonder— surely you don't believe I was fool enough to fall down the hole, as you did."

She shrugged a little. "I didn't think about it."

A dry chuckle escaped him. "Obviously not."

"What is this place?"

"It is an oubliette." He glanced at her. "Do you know what that is?"

She sighed and twisted her mouth wryly. "I know I don't want to be in one—"

"It is a place," said Erik, "where you put people in order to forget about them. Preferably forever."

She didn't want to think about that.

"What— what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Shooting fairies," said Erik, spreading his hands. "What does it look like?"

She took in a deep breath, completely unaware of the fact that he had successfully diverted her fright into annoyance. All she knew was she felt more able to cope now— even though Erik troubled her just as much as the darkness. Perhaps it was because he was of the darkness, a kindred spirit to the clutching hands that caught at her as she fell. A dark spirit.

The words caught her fancy, and made her fear of Erik easier to bear. She shut her mouth tightly and straightened her shoulders.

"How did you get in here?"

"Through," said Erik slowly, deliberately, carefully, and obnoxiously, "—the door."

She threw her arms in the air. "There are no doors! I've looked!"

"I believe we have had a discussion on the fact that you do not know the correct way in which to look. You're never going to get anywhere if you believe what your eyes tell you. Eyes are not intelligent objects at the best of times, and are easily fooled."

Sarah put her hands on her hips. "If you're quite done pontificating—"

There it was again, that chuckle— less ironic now, more amused.

"You show your spirit at the most inopportune of times, young woman."

Impossibly beautiful as the voice was, it grated on her now; she'd always been somewhat allergic to being called 'young woman.' She stood up even straighter.

"Very well," said Erik, tilting his head to one side. "I do know a way out— it will take you to the beginning of the Labyrinth. You're well out of it, you know— it's a confusing place, impossible to navigate, impossible to solve."

She stepped forward involuntarily. "No! I'm not going to quit! I've come so far, to quit now would be— well, it would be wrong, that's all— and make everything seem so pointless—"

His golden eyes were half-covered by heavy lids, his head drooped slightly. "My dear, at a certain age, you come to realize that, depressing as it may seem, everything is pointless."

"No," she repeated. "I refuse to believe that. I came for my brother, and I am not giving up."

"Foolish child—"

"Perhaps I am!" she said. "Well, this foolish child is going to muddle through somehow, with your help or without it. And what about you? You lost something of your own— have you given up?"

His breath caught. The expression in his eyes unnerved her, and she shivered slightly— clearly he was extremely angry. She nearly started to stutter out an apology, but stopped herself. She refused to apologize to him.

"Given up?" he repeated, his voice deceptively soft. "After the years I've spent searching, to give up now—"

"Then you know how I feel," she said; regardless of whether he did or not, she was determined to throw herself on his sympathy if at all possible. She had a feeling that it was the only way she was going to get out of here.

There was a very long pause, and then he nodded.

"Turn around," he said quietly, "and walk straight ahead, ten paces."

"But—"

"Do it."

There was such authority in his voice, the tone of someone used to being obeyed, that she did as she was bidden.

"Now stop."

She halted.

"Turn your back to me— don't look back— and place your hands on the wall in front of you."

Utterly confused now, she obeyed. If it meant she could get out of here, she was willing to do practically anything.

"Close your eyes."

She did.

"Say—" He halted, just slightly. "Say 'ar dae deama Erikk.'"

She wet her lips, then, stumbling slightly, said it.

There was, this time, a deep and amused rumble of a chuckle from behind her.

"You can look now," he said. She turned, and saw light streaming through a door, in front of which Erik stood, a definite smile on those thin lips under the mask. His eyes were narrowed with amusement.

"Hey!"

"You're so wonderfully obedient," he said.

She opened her mouth to speak, then just shook her head and walked forward. "You mean to tell me—"

"Yes."

She sighed, loudly, and paused at the threshold to glance up at him, almost shyly.

"And what exactly did I say?"

"You said," he told her, the smile still there, " 'Erik is my hero.'"

If nothing else, this was evidence of a sense of humor, and it was oddly comforting to her. She stepped through the door, and he followed her.


	8. Strangers Till Now

**Chapter Eight: Strangers, Till Now**

_Deep beliefs are so held as to be protected by one's mind— in us is constantly the fear that, should we take these beliefs, expose them to light, scrutinize them in all the glory of our cynicality— they should dissolve into dust, and blow away, leaving us hollow and empty and incapable of ever being filled._

The door led to a long, low corridor, carved out of a dim blue stone. Sarah advanced down it first, looking from side to side anxiously. Her claustrophobia resumed its angry dance in her skull, and her breathing quickened as her heart beat double time.

She nearly started out of her skin when she felt the touch on her shoulder. She turned quickly to find Erik just behind her, staring down.

"Would you like me to go first?" he inquired.

She swallowed.

"Yes—"

He nodded and began to walk past her.

"No!" she said, and clutched at him. She caught a double handful of his cloak and pulled him to a stop. "No, if you go first I'll be picked off when your back is turned."

The eyebrow went up again.

"Then you would like to walk in front?"

"Y— no, if I walk in front I'll be picked off as a natural victim." She shut her eyes for a moment, fought back the claustrophobia, tried to give her brain breathing space. "Won't you just— walk beside me? There's room for both of us."

He paused and appeared to be thinking about it.

"Yes," he said finally, "there is room for both of us—"

Another moment and he held out an arm for her to take.

She swallowed hard, and slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. The cloth of his coat was rough to her skin, but also comforting. She was reminded suddenly of being a very little girl and walking arm in arm with her grandfather, when he got down on his knees so as to be closer to her in height. Erik looked down at her, and she looked up; from this perspective all she could see was the unmasked cheek. Even so, he did not look normal. His skin was sallow, pale as though he never saw the light, and those eyes, liquid gold framed in darkness. The visible eyebrow arched only slightly, giving him an expression of permanent thoughtfulness, as though he was contemplating something that did not make him happy. She noticed he had no smile lines around his eyes, and this saddened her.

She wondered about the scar on his left cheek, even more than she wondered about the mask— she didn't dare ask about either.

"I have mentioned," he said quietly, "that it is rather rude of you to stare."

Instantly she pushed her gaze forward. "I'm sorry."

They walked on.

The corridor widened out abruptly into a series of large rooms, empty except for irregular columns of the same rock the walls were made of. Sarah clutched Erik's arm just a little bit closer. There was a cold wind there—

And, as they passed the first column, a voice leapt out and assaulted them.

"_As our two intrepid protagonists walk through the room, their minds whirl with ideas of what could possibly inhabit it— or, indeed, what the voice could be that comes to their ears—"_

It was a deep voice, mellisonant, slightly jovial, and, Sarah thought, strangely familiar.

"_The pretty young woman reflected to herself that the voice was known to her somehow, though she couldn't place quite from where—"_

She shot her eyes up to look at Erik, just as he looked down at her.

"Is that what you were—"

"Thinking, yes, just now. As soon as I thought it, that's what it said."

"_The masked man puzzled over his companion's words. What could it mean? It had to all add up somehow, but how? He thought over what he knew of the Labyrinth and its strange inhabitants—"_

A small smile crooked the corners of Erik's mouth.

"It's the Narrator," he said.

"What?" said Sarah.

"_She repeated the word in tones of disbelief, as she couldn't quite credit what her tall acquaintance had just said—"_

"Explain it, please?" said Sarah desperately.

Erik attempted. "You've read fairy tales, perhaps?"

"Yes. When I was younger, of course," she added hastily, blushing slightly. Erik already thought of her as a child— he didn't need reinforcement in this assumption.

"_Her ears burned as she thought fleetingly of what she could do to impress upon the man her adultness, or if there was anything she could do to make him look upon her in a different light—"_

"God!" said Sarah before she could help herself, now blushing furiously. She dropped Erik's arm, too flustered to realize that he was looking at her with amusement plain on his face. "A narrator. I understand. Nevermind."

"Yes, it seems the voice lives here in these caves. And— narrates."

His tone was amused as well.

"I get it," said Sarah. She kept her face turned away from him; young as she was, she still had a habit of being inordinately embarrassed by everything. Erik reached for her hand, and drew it again through his arm, drawing her into a faster walk.

"The sooner we get out of here, the sooner your mind loses the feeling of being looked into," he assured her.

"Well then, can't we run?" she asked. "It is not a comfortable feeling."

"No, I don't suppose it is."

The voice followed them, bouncing off the walls and the misshapen columns, jumping wildly at their heads in an attempt to catch them up. Snatches of the mellifluous tones were audible, and the rest was lost in a buzzing static.

"_He thought of his beloved as she— the young woman bit her lip and sought to— the masked man felt the beginnings of song returning to his mind as— he wondered to himself if she had guessed yet who he was—"_

Sarah shot a sharp glance up at him, but his eyes were focused in front of them.

"This," he said out of the corner of his mouth, "would be one of the times when not thinking is the wisest course."

They rushed on, and tried desperately not to think.

The voice bounded along behind them.

"_The legs of the man stumbled— she thought to herself, how could he— who was he?"_

Finally, there in front of them, was a door. They had been walking on an slight upwards slope all this time, and when Erik opened the door, they stepped out into sunlight.

Immediately in front of them was a strange-looking creature. It was tall, rangy and thin, swathed in a dark red cloak, a rumpled and bent top hat jammed tightly on its head; currently, it was bent over, making complicated motions with its four fingers. As they watched, something clicked, and the spreading vista to their right changed instantly to a blank brick wall.

There was a rumbling growl deep in Erik's throat. This was the first noise they'd made, and the creature jumped, standing up straight on bent hind legs, his eyes staring wildly at them, a thick lock of black hair falling into his face. The slanted eyes focused on them for a moment, and then the mouth curved in a grin, the eyes slitting with amusement.

"What have we here?" it asked. The voice was like a purr, low and throaty.

Erik's back had gone stiff. Sarah glanced at him, then back at the creature in front of them.

"Who are you?" she said.

The grin remained, and the creature bowed. "A humble servant of His Majesty— like all denizens of the Labyrinth. And who might you be, young miss?"

"Sarah," she said, tentatively.

"Just as I suspected," said the creature, and preened his whiskers.

"Will you not tell us your name?" she asked.

"Indeed not, young miss Sarah, for it is only the Head, not the Hand, that is named. A rose called by any other name would smell as sweet, but were you to inhale my aroma, I assure you you would find that I am no rose. I jest to Jareth, and make him smile, when I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, preying on the likeness of His Majesty's love."

"His name," said Erik, quietly, "is Turnabout. He is the Goblin King's Chief Minion."

Turnabout stood up straighter. "Right hand man, jester, entertainer, bard, singer of songs, teller of jokes, proclaimer of proclamations, asker of questions, poser of riddles, scratcher of back, massager of feet— all this and nothing more, except by appointment."

Sarah looked up at Erik, but he was staring fixedly at Turnabout and did not look back at her. She turned her eyes to Turnabout once more; his gaze was locked with Erik's, and a strange expression was on his face— it looked like a wordless warning.

"Do you two know each other?"

"A bit," said Turnabout, but Erik said, at the same time and louder, "Not at all, we have never met."

The grin on the face of the cat-like creature widened. "Perfect strangers is what we are," he said to Sarah, apparently changing his mind. "Never have we met before. And in your companion's eyes there is no deception; his heart is as pure as that of a child." He swept her another low bow, catching at his hat as it nearly fell off his head. "I would advise you, young miss, to beware your brain. Sickness is catching."

He saluted to Erik, his back suddenly ramrod straight, then turned military-style, on his heels, and marched away. He'd not gone ten stiff paces when he disappeared into thin air.


	9. The Four Wise Ones

**Chapter Nine: The Four Wise Ones**

"_When a man is wise in his own eyes, he would do well to stock up on this. It won't be long before everyone tells him he is a fool, and then he will soon begin to believe it. There is no gainsaying the vast majority, no matter what you might think to be true."_

"What did he mean?"

As soon as Turnabout was out of sight, Erik had begun walking, very quickly. Sarah hurried along behind him, her hand still caught in his arm, frantically trying to keep up. The Chief Minion's words resounded in her head—

"_Sickness is catching—"_

"Erik, tell me what he meant."

"I will tell you the story some time," he said. "But now, we must rush and save your brother, is that not so? You tell me many times that the hours are running short. Do you honestly want me to stop here and tell you the tale? It would take a long time."

"Can't you just tell me on the way?"

He let out a sound halfway between an exasperated sigh and an equally exasperated laugh, but didn't answer other than that.

"Then just tell me this," said Sarah, skipping a few steps in order to catch up with him again. "What do I need to beware of? What is it about you that could be dangerous to me?"

He stopped dead in his tracks and spun round— she ran up against his chest, her head banging painfully on one bony shoulder. He advanced, and she was forced to step back.

"After I helped you, you do not trust me?"

His voice was silky as always, but with ragged and torn edges. His eyelids flickered wildly as his gaze burned into her eyes— burned clear down to the pit of her stomach, leaving a hole that filled up with dread. He was a dangerous man, that was quite clear.

Sarah tried to put words together, and found it rather difficult with his breath on her face, his hands reaching up to close over her shoulders, he was so close—

"Its not that I don't appreciate it," she said. "I mean, everything you've done. I mean, getting me out of the oubliette. Because I do— appreciate it, that is— I just—"

He bent even closer, his lips mere inches away from hers.

"Answer yes or no," he murmured.

Sarah swallowed.

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, of course I trust you."

He breathed out and let her go.

"I do so hate being lied to."

Erik turned away from her and walked on. Sarah stood still for a moment, looking after him— watching the way he moved, stalking strides, the material of the black cloak billowing round him like a great black bird—

"I trust you more than I would trust Jareth, or his henchmen," she called after him.

He paused, and stared straight ahead.

She waited for an answer, and it was not long in coming.

"Come here, child," he said. "I will tell you honestly, the way things are."

She advanced, and said, very quietly, "You have met Jareth— haven't you?"

He half-turned, and she could see his profile, the scar standing out lividly on his left cheek against the sallow skin, which seemed to have had no contact with the light, ever.

"I have," he said. "He gave me this—"

He gestured at the scar.

"Only as a souvenir, I am sure. Had he used his magic, I wouldn't have prevailed, I have no doubt of it. But he had no reason to resort to those means."

She advanced closer to him, and reached for his hand.

He looked down at her fingers, so much smaller than his, as they curled around his hand, intertwined with his fingers and rested, warm and slightly damp, in his palm.

"He has something of mine," Erik murmured. "And I need desperately to get it back."

She brought his hand closer to her, closed her other hand around it, held it up to her chest, just underneath her throat. There was such sadness in his voice; she couldn't bear it. Suppose the only way to make him happy was to—

"I will tell you," he said, and the words she had been about to say died away on her lips.

A voice came from in front of them.

"I trust we aren't interrupting something?"

"I don't think you mean 'trust.' I think you mean 'hope to God' we aren't interrupting something."

"Oh, do be quiet."

"Look at them, there's at least thirty years age difference, if not more!"

"We have had this discussion."

"I see nothing wrong with having it again."

"Be quiet."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"I am telling you what to do, I'm telling you to be quiet."

"Why should I?"

As one, Erik and Sarah turned to look at the four figures that now advanced towards them. They were led by a small woman, who had a determined face and long flowing hair— she was the one who was snappishly demanding that no one tell her what to do. Next to her came two other girls, both a bit younger, both a bit taller— one with dark red hair, the other with short black hair. Behind them was a man, tall and pleasant-looking, of no particular age— he had been fighting with the woman.

They all looked like perfectly normal human beings, and this was such a rarity in the Labyrinth that both Erik and Sarah backed up several paces, warily.

"Introductions!" said the woman in front.

"Can I do them?" said the girl with black hair, pushing her glasses up her nose. "I'm good at them. I've had practice. They're fun."

"Go ahead, then."

The girl struck a pose. "Seadri!" she said, pointing at the red-haired girl. "The Grounded One. Seanmrahain, the imposing figure just beneath my shoulder, is Incessant Nagging. I myself am Seachain, the Visible Manifestation of Art, and behind us is Setherin, the Master. He handles Questions, Advice, and books our tour dates. Thank you very much." Seachain took a bow.

Seanmrahain nudged her. "You forgot th—"

"Oh! Right. We are— the— um— you know what? I forgot."

"I know."

"No, I mean, I honestly forgot."

"I didn't say you didn't," said Setherin, from behind them.

"No, I mean, I can't remember."

Sarah leaned upwards to try and whisper in Erik's ear.

"Who are they?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," murmured Erik back. "I haven't met with them before in my travels. Perhaps they're new."

"New?" said Seadri, who had extremely acute hearing. "You say that as though we were just some entertainment the Labyrinth decided to throw up for your benefit. I'll have you know that we've been wandering the whole East Quarter for the past two hundred years. We're tried and true— no fly-by-night act."

"Yes," said Erik, carefully, "but what exactly _are_ you?"

The women began to quarrel amongst themselves, and from behind, Setherin, the Master, said calmly, "We are The Four Wise Ones."

Sarah and Erik stared at them.

"We handle Questions, Complaints, Directions, Metaphysics, Out-Of-Body Experiences, and Obfuscations."

"Pontifications a specialty," added Seanmrahain.

"I was about to say that," said Setherin.

"Yes, but you didn't."

"But I was about to."

"But _I_ said it, Seth, so shut up."

He glared at her and the two of them lapsed into an angry silence, broken only by Seanmrahain muttering, "He may be my Master, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"The Four Wise Ones?" repeated Sarah. "I'm sorry, I mean no offense, but— how exactly are you The Four Wise Ones?"

"Isn't it obvious?" chirped Seachain. "We represent the major requirements that life makes of people. Think about it. The Grounded One, Incessant Nagging, Visible Manifestation of Art, and the Master— Sanity, Perseverance, the ability to make people think you're talented, and the willingness to walk all over anyone who stands in your way."

Sarah blinked at them.

"Well— I'm not sure I agree with that, actually."

They stared at her. To her surprise, she even felt Erik staring at her, as well.

"What?"

"Call me old and cynical—" said Erik

"Alright, you're old and cynical," piped up Seanmrahain.

He ignored her. "But— they're absolutely right."

"Are they? But that's awful! I mean, what about the important things in life, like—" Haphazardly, Sarah grasped at something that seemed important to her. "Beauty."

From the looks she got from Erik and from The Four Wise Ones, this was clearly the wrong thing to say.

"Well, music then."

Erik nodded slowly.

"I would agree that music is very important. However, it isn't possessed by everyone."

"Intelligence, then."

"Ah, you see, the same thing goes for that as well."

Sarah looked from him to The Four Wise Ones, who stood in a line, their arms folded, staring back at her with identical blank stares.

"I can't believe that you four are the only important things in life," she said.

"The thing about belief," said Seachain, "is that it very rarely matters."

"Exactly," said Setherin, with a sage nod.

"But I don't believe that, either!" said Sarah.

"So what?" said Seanmrahain, just by way of demonstration.

Sarah, incredibly frustrated, stomped her foot. Erik smiled and patted her arm.

"Perhaps you could simply give us some directions, then," he addressed the Four Wise Ones. "You did list that as one of the offices which you perform, yes?"

"We did indeed," said Seanmrahain.

"I did," said Setherin.

"Shut up."

"Don't tell me to shut up."

"Whilst they're arguing," suggested Seadri, "perhaps you could tell us where exactly you want to go?"

"To the castle beyond the Goblin City," said Sarah, very definitely.

The Four Wise Ones stopped arguing and exchanged glances.

"Oh foolhardy one," said Seadri, carefully, "you had better be a hardy fool, indeed."

"Can you help us?" asked Sarah. "Please?"

The three women looked at Setherin, who pulled a large and dusty tome out of thin air and opened it. He thumbed through the thin, onionskin pages, slowly and deliberately. Sarah and Erik waited patiently.

Eventually, he made an "Ah!" sort of noise, ran his finger down one page in particular, then glanced up at them.

"No," he said.

Sarah stared at him. "What?" she said blankly.

"No, we can't help you there. We can tell you how to get to the nearest ice cream parlor, and which turn to take to visit the Elephant Graveyard, and how to avoid the Miscellaneous Beast, which I've heard is very nasty. But we cannot help you get to the castle beyond the goblin city."

"Why not?" Sarah cried. "You said you gave directions—"

"Yes, but we cannot give directions if there are no directions to give," said Setherin, in a kind voice. He held up the book for her to see the pages— under the boldface type where it said "Castle" it was blank. "I'm terribly sorry about it—"

"That is alright, we do understand," said Erik, since Sarah seemed incapable of saying anything. "Thank you for your time. We'll just be on our way."

He took Sarah by the arm and began to lead her off; she glanced over her shoulder in time to see the Master get irritated with Seanmrahain, pick the small woman up, and throw her over his shoulder. He and the other two walked off down the road, while the spirit of Incessant Nagging, slumped over his shoulder, hit him a few times, not hard, with her fist and then resigned herself to her fate.

She turned back to Erik.

Her voice was subdued.

"You told me you would tell me about what happened to you."

He paused, and sighed. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Yes. I need to know. And I want you to be honest, if you please."

Another sigh escaped his lips, and then, slowly, as they walked along the twisted road, he told her of his greatest treasure, and how she fled from him.


	10. What He Would Never Do

**Chapter Ten: What He Would Never Do**

_She knew it was no use calling after him. Where he had gone, there was no following— if there was returning, she would be grateful for small mercies..._

Erik's tale was long in the telling. He began at the beginning.

"You may have heard," he said hesitantly, breath barely pushing out over the enclosure of his lips, voice soft and whispery, "the sad, sad tale of the Phantom of the Opera."

"Yes. It's a musical, isn't it?"

A faint smile crossed his face. "It is, these days, I hear tell. But first, it was a book. And I was the— well, I am not sure if I could be called a protagonist. But I was the title character— the Phantom of the Opera."

Sarah was very quiet for a bit. Then she said, "I've been meaning to read that book for years."

"Yes, well. Perhaps after you get home."

"Perhaps."

"Allow me to tell you the whole story."

Christine Daae was a beautiful young woman, not thirteen when she came to the Opera Populaire. Erik was a darkness to her light, a cold and bent figure of a ruined man, who transformed in her presence to a gentleman— cold still, a creature of shadow, but impossibly beautiful in a way she did not understand. He did not understand it himself— it was not love at first, not for a long time. But he wanted her as he had wanted no one— wanted to possess her, own her, know her every thought and feeling, control her.

She couldn't give him that.

Much as she gave him, she could not pass over ownership of her body and soul.

He kept her for himself, jealously guarding her from the advances of a string of young men. She listened to him, as he clearly, she thought to herself, only had her best interests at heart— and it was flattering, indeed, that Erik should have chosen her out of all the girls at the Opera Populaire, to teach her how to sing. He watched over her like a father, like a guardian angel; that was all she knew.

There was a lot more to the story, which Erik did not bring up. He avoided referencing the instances where Christine seemed to have chosen another man over him, where she left him down there in the Lair, left him to die as he saw fit. He skipped instead to a most extraordinary occurrence some months after, when Christine came back to him.

He was quite sure it was a dream, when she first came.

There was a peculiar, fuzzy quality to the light, as though he were viewing it through pale water. He drew in deep breaths to reassure himself that it was air, indeed, that he breathed— to try and bring himself back to reality, whatever reality was.

Reality appeared to be the presence of Christine, wrapped in a shawl, a nightgown underneath that— it was late, he had been sleeping. She should not have been awake, and certainly not been underneath the Opera Populaire in the singular presence of an Opera Ghost.

She was to be married the next day.

And she was frightened.

He held her as she murmured into the warmth of his rough shirt.

"You always comforted me before, when I had need of you. Well, I have need of you now—"

"I am here, Christine."

Her eyes were faraway, and it was all he could do not to kiss the lids as they drooped sleepily.

"Are you?" she said quietly. "Are you really here, Erik— are either of us here— and if so—"

Her eyes slid open and she looked directly up at him.

Ever before she had looked at him with at least some fear; there was no being sure, with a personality as volatile and mercurial as Erik's. But now as their eyes met the fear was gone, overridden, and replaced with the greatest emotion Christine felt in her whole life.

Curiosity.

She was to be married the next day, but she wanted to know what it felt like_ now_.

She kissed him first, and he could not help but respond. Erik had a very strong, if somewhat warped, sense of right and wrong— the devilish voice inside him danced a wild, euphoric jig, screaming to his mind that this was right, this was how it should be, because Christine belonged to him.

Erik was innocent, but by no means pure.

Naive, but by no means unworldly.

He drew Christine hard against him, his fingers digging into her back, leaving bruises. This she bore with no complaint. It was as several minutes went by, and her hair came down, and her heart raced, and her fear returned, that she freed her mouth and gasped breathlessly, "I can't! I can't!"

Erik went utterly, utterly still.

In a quiet voice, he cursed her name.

Christine sobbed, turned, and ran.

There was something magic in the air that night, something shifting and shivery and unsettling. Something that defied logic and explanation, poked fun at reasons-for-being. Something that resulted in downfall for both Erik and Christine.

Jareth the Goblin King had an unerring sense of the spectacular, and spectacular was what it was when Christine disappeared in front of Erik's eyes.

He didn't think, or pause, or breathe, just ran.

Two seconds later he, too, was in the Labyrinth. More specifically, he was in the castle beyond the Goblin City, in an empty room.

His knees bent in an alert crouch, he whirled about, searching for Christine— searching for anyone, really, as the unfamiliar surroundings unsettled him deeply. He could see no one, and yet suddenly a voice spoke.

"You are welcome, Monsieur Opera Ghost."

He stared wildly around him.

"Where are you?"

Slow laughter echoed.

"You are welcome, I say. I have been without entertainment for a while."

"Where is Christine!" cried Erik, for that is what he needed to know.

"Christine? Your Christine? Why, Erik, do you not know that you came two seconds after her? Fifty years have passed. I am afraid she died some months ago."

Erik lost his breath, his heart stuttered and he fell to his knees. Suddenly there appeared a man in front of him, holding out a black-gloved hand. Erik drew in a few deep, slow breaths, and took it.

The man helped him up. Standing, they were near the same height, the man just an inch or so taller. His eyes were cold, his mouth was cruel.

Jareth and the Phantom of the Opera stood and took each other in.

Erik spoke first.

"Tell me she is not dead."

Jareth had ceased to be amused with this line of attack, and merely shrugged.

"Alright, she is not dead."

"Thank you," breathed Erik, and closed his eyes as he felt his heart begin to come back into its own steady rhythm. "Where is she?"

"I have her," said Jareth. "Don't worry."

This was all it took for Erik to lunge at him, the punjab lasso, his usual weapon, held at the ready. He had actually gotten it around Jareth's neck when he felt something pressing on him, closing around his own neck, choking him.

He stared at Jareth.

Jareth stared back.

"I would advise you," said Jareth, face white with control as he forced his voice past constricted vocal cords, "to let me go before you kill yourself."

Erik tightened the punjab, and felt the pressure on his own neck tighten in tandem. He let go immediately.

"Very wise choice," said Jareth, removing the lasso from around his neck and handing it back to him. Though he showed no ill effects from having nearly been choked to death, there was nevertheless a red ring around his neck. He turned away from Erik and stalked forward a few paces, then turned back, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He stared at Erik curiously.

"I believe you could help me with something," he said.

"I will not," said Erik.

"It is not much. Merely entrapping a troublesome girl. It would mean nothing to you, who have killed and maimed— for pleasure. It would be enjoyable to one such as you."

Erik shook his head and drew breath raggedly.

"I do not do that any more," he said, his yellow eyes fixed on the ground.

Jareth tilted his head to one side.

"Don't you?" he said softly.

Jareth, with his uncanny instinct for what made people uncomfortable, enclosed him, not in a small, dark cell, but in a wide open room, full of bright lights, under which Erik whimpered and sobbed. Stripped naked of everything, he had only his voice, and for days all he said, all he repeated, endlessly, was—

"I won't! I won't!"

Sometimes he explained it, to reassure himself; or was he reassuring the blank white walls around him? He did not know.

"Its not that I can't— its that I won't— I would never do it— I refuse to be used in such a manner, refuse to be used, refuse— it will not happen, I cannot let it happen, I won't I can't I mustn't it mustn't."

Near the end, driven absolutely insane, he saw visions. They came to him and comforted him, and then some began to slap him and call him a fool. The latest of these turned out to be Jareth.

"In your madness, you try and fight with _me_!" he roared, true anger visible in his stone eyes.

Erik shook himself and realized he was on the ground, clothed once more. His left cheek was laid open, oozing blood down his face. He stood up, shakily, and confronted his tormentor. His only comfort was that Jareth as well had been wounded in this fight, this fight that Erik had not been aware that he was fighting— a gash had been opened on his shoulder, and blood was staining the pristine whiteness of his shirt.

He was breathing heavily.

"Very well done," he said. "Your noble spirit has been impressed on us all, you lunatic. Now I offer you something."

"A deal?" said Erik, quietly. "A truce?"

Jareth's cold eyes gleamed like steel. "A bribe," he said.

Erik stood still and listened as he spoke.

"You will mislead this girl. You will turn her upside down, do everything possible to keep her from getting to my castle. That is your task. Should you be successful, Christine will be returned to you and you will be free to go."

As he listened, Erik felt something rush into him— it took him a bit, but he eventually identified it as sanity; a cold, hard, absolute clarity of mind, such as he had never known. He did not know what had happened to the madness that had built up in his mind over his lifetime— he only knew that it was gone, every trace of it, and he felt like someone else entirely.

He looked up at Jareth and made his first rational decision.

"Agreed," he said.


	11. On The Turning Away

**Chapter Eleven: On the Turning Away**

"_There comes a time," she said carefully, her voice shaking slightly, "when we must let go our fears and face the dark, regardless of how much we love the light— and I cannot do it if the light of the world is standing by my side. And so you must leave me."_

Sarah stood still, staring at him. He could not bear the look of betrayal in her eyes, and so he looked at the ground.

"This—" she said. "This is the truth, what you've told me?"

Erik nodded slowly, heavily, his eyes never leaving the ground beneath his feet. He walked on with a measured tread, and Sarah followed, eyes wide in disbelief, several paces behind.

"You told me you were helping me!"

"I lied," said Erik quietly.

Sarah's lip trembled; she folded her arms and fought back tears.

Erik's back stiffened as he heard her sob, and he half-turned and looked back at her.

"Well, I have told you the truth now, and all I can do is stand by it."

"Why?" she said.

"I had to do it, child! This Goblin King of yours has my Christine— I would do anything to get her back."

"No," she said, and stomped her foot, slowly regaining control over herself. "Why would you tell me the truth now? What good is it to you, or to me?"

He looked at her, head shaking slowly.

"Are you telling me that you would rather have continued on being deceived and lied to, instead of knowing what the dangers were, knowing there was no one you could trust?"

"Well, at least when I was being lied to I_ thought_ I had a friend!" she said. "Now I have nothing. No one to depend on. I'm being accompanied by the Phantom of the Opera, and he lies to me."

Erik's breath came as steadily as it ever had, and only his eyes showed the turmoil within.

"I," he said clearly, "am_ not_ your friend."

"Don't you think I know that by now? All this time you've been working for Jareth, trying to trip me up and lead me back to the beginning. Who knows— if I hadn't met you, traveled with you, I might have been at the castle by now! Who knows how much damage you've done my cause? For all I know, the correct turning to lead me straight to Toby could be right there—" She gestured at the hedge next to them. "And you wouldn't tell me. You wouldn't help me at all!"

She ran out of words, and they stood for a moment, regarding each other silently.

She drew in a deep breath, shuddery from her near bout with tears.

"I just want to know, Erik."

"What?"

"I want to know why you decided to tell me the truth, after all this time."

The small smile that touched his lips bore no trace of joviality, or lightheartedness— it was sad, reminiscent, pitiable.

"Christine would want me to do things honestly," he said. "Any man I might become, I would want to be acceptable to her."

Sarah turned away from him and fingered the leaves of the hedges.

"As we went on, and I saw how you dealt with the Labyrinth— I began to think that you could succeed. And that nothing I or Jareth could do— would stand in your way."

Her hair fell forward, hiding her face. She shifted her eyes to try and see him without being seen, but all she could see was his figure, a dark silhouette through a fall of brown hair.

Just who was he, this Erik—

Was he what he claimed to be? A conflicted and tortured man, in love with a woman who was being held captive by the Goblin King? Someone impressed by Sarah's own competency?

Or was he someone else entirely?

Was he lying still?

She bit back another sob as she realized she would probably never know.

"It doesn't matter anyway," she said, slowly.

Erik's head lifted and he looked at her. Gradually, she pushed her hair out of her face and looked back at him.

"Because I want you to leave."

"What?"

"I don't want you to be with me any more," Sarah said, determination in her voice. "I need to get to that castle. I don't trust you to help me. I need you to leave."

For another long moment he stood there, staring at her.

Then, with a short bow, he turned away and was very quickly gone from sight.


	12. Ludo

**Please review! They make my day! Cuz I'm a sad and lonely person!**

**Chapter Twelve: Ludo**

_...she found, in silence, a sort of angelic peace, which would never show its face when she was surrounded by companions. But, somehow, she yearned to be accompanied in her solitude, a ghostlike presence hovering just beneath her shoulder, a touch on her neck, something to distract her from her own inadequacies— anything—_

Left on her own, Sarah walked on.

The sudden silence, apart from her own breathing and her pattering footsteps on the flagstone path, unnerved her. Already upset at the conversation with Erik, she began to feel tears gathering behind her eyes. A lump rose in her throat and her lips twisted downwards as she fought off crying.

What was she going to do?

Only what she could, she thought. The only thing to do was to keep going. To get to the castle and save her baby brother.

She pushed herself on, breathing a little easier now as panic left, though she felt slightly drained from the excess of emotion. Her tears left her gradually, though she still had an ineffable sense of sadness and loss.

It was at this point that she first heard the roar of the beast.

It was loud, and ragged, and furious and feral. Sarah thought she had gotten over being afraid. This was a bad moment to find out she was wrong. Even as she started, and stepped back a few paces, however, she knew that she had to go on— had to find out what was going on.

There was more than rage and wildness in that roar— there was pain, and despair, and a plea for help.

She squared her shoulders and took a quavering step forward.

"I am not afraid— I am not afraid—"

She repeated the phrase out loud to herself, hoping against hope that if she said it often enough, eventually she would begin to believe it. Self-deception is not as easy as we might think.

She pressed herself into a run, before she could change her mind.

As she rounded the corner, the sight that met her eyes startled her immensely.

It was a beast, indeed— fully seven feet tall, covered in thick black hair, a single horn in the middle of its forehead, with great big teeth and a long, furry tail. Currently, it was caught in a trap, held upside down. The ropes were silver, and as she looked at them, they slithered about the beast's body, snickering to themselves and tightening as they wished.

Another roar came, as they cut deep into the bundle of hair and flesh they contained.

Before she could stop herself, she rushed forward.

"Hang on! I'll help you!"

The beast twisted awkwardly, turning to look at her despite the fact that the ropes obviously cut deeper every time it moved. Sarah said, frantically, "Hold still! I'll figure out something."

The beast made a slow, heavy noise. It took Sarah a moment to realize it was talking.

It said, with a great deal of effort and a savagely furrowed brow as it spoke, "Hurry!"

"I will!" Sarah promised rashly, and began to search for something with which to cut the ropes. She dug through a patch of dirt and located a rock; she struck it repeatedly against the flagstones till half of it sheared off into splinters. The half she had left in her hand was relatively sharp, and with a smile of triumph, she advanced on the ropes, holding it out threateningly.

They laughed at her like snakes— "Snnnhsnnhhssnhh—" and an eye cracked open in the midst of the silver. It winked at her.

She stood for a moment, baffled, and the snakelike chuckle came again. Goaded on by this, she lunged at the eye with the rock, and stabbed as hard as she could.

There was a scream from the creature, and it dropped off the beast, and undulated off as quickly as it could, disappearing beneath the shrubbery in front of her. The beast, released from its confines, had fallen to the ground, landing on its head, with a grunt of pain.

Sarah rushed to it, and nearly went to help it up before she remembered that the denizens of the Labyrinth weren't all harmless. She backed off a few nervous paces as the beast laboriously pushed itself up to its feet, grunting in the process.

"Are you— are you a nice beast?" she asked, timidly.

It swung a heart-pierced gaze at her, and sniffled.

"Don't cry!" she said, alarmed. "I didn't mean to insult you! Look— don't cry, its alright—"

But it wasn't, suddenly, because as she spoke the beast began to shudder, and to her surprise and quite a lot of disgust, the hair began to slough off the beast's body. There were several bodily changes that it went through, each more disturbing than the last, and finally Sarah couldn't take it any more and simply turned away from it, hiding her eyes and trying not to hear anything that was going on, either.

When the noises stopped, she dared to turn around again.

Before her, in the middle of a pile of sloughed hair and skin, stood a heartbreakingly-handsome man, likely in his late thirties, with a head of shaggy dark hair, a sweet mouth, a horn on his forehead, and an almost entirely naked body. He wore a loincloth of some dark, unidentifiable fabric, and a singularly dazed expression.

He held up a finger.

Sarah stared at him.

His mouth moved and he appeared to be about to speak.

Sarah took a few steps toward him, mesmerized by the perfection of his face.

Finally, his frantic mouthings gave fruit to a single syllable—

"Uh—" he said, and collapsed on his own hair.

* * *

"My name is Sarah." 

The man looked at her, shuddering slightly. Evidently he was cold. Sarah looked at the ground.

"Ludo," said the man. His voice was deep, and surprisingly sweet— like chocolate, she thought, or the way her father sounded when she was little and curled up in his lap, her ear against his heartbeat, hearing his voice rumble from deep inside. Sarah couldn't help taking to him.

"Ludo— is that your name?"

A nod of the shaggy dark head.

She smiled slightly, warmly. "You seem like such a nice—"

Man?

Beast?

Thing?

"—Ludo," she finished lamely, but he treated it as if this were the only possible thing to say; as, indeed, it may have been. She stood up straight and tried not to talk to him as she would to a child— even though he was now a man, and not a beast, it was difficult to avoid it. She found herself trying to simplify things automatically.

"I'd like to be your friend," she said. It came out rather timidly; well, she thought, he was a beast part of the time, and even as a man, if he decided he didn't like her, things could go from bad to worse very quickly. She held out her hand a little, encouragingly.

He considered it for a moment, and then took her fingers delicately— then, as though released from constraint, he caught her hand in both of his huge palms, grasping them tightly.

"Friend," he agreed, and shook his hair forward over his face.

She smiled and tried to detach her hand before it got crushed. "Do you know the way through the Labyrinth?"

This took a while to compute. Ludo frowned, scratched his head, wrinkled his brow, gazed into space, stared at the sun, rapped on the wall, shuffled his feet, and finally looked at her and sighed.

He shook his head.

Sarah sighed as well.

"Me neither," she said, with a beginning of hopelessness.


	13. A Serious Conversation on Ethics

**Chapter Thirteen: A Serious Conversation On Ethics**

"_I suppose," she said carefully, "that one cannot always rely on one's own mind. It seems so apt to change— and alter— and deceive."_

Erik trudged through the Labyrinth, eyes on the ground, apparently unaware of the changes going on around him. Turnabout was having a field day— all around Erik, vistas sprouted and melted away within seconds, snow fell and turned to sunflowers on the ground, holes opened up in midair and dogs leapt out, only to turn tail and run when chased by a herd of zebra. A series of irrational paranoias took over the world, but only for a second, and soon everything was back to normal, for a given value of normal. Erik was, in fact, watching most of these events— he had never been entirely sure of what was normal anyway, and so he ignored them, though was slightly saddened by their very presence.

Far away from him, Sarah walked—

Perhaps he should have managed, somehow, to convince her to let him stay.

This thought caught him by surprise— what need had he of the girl? She was certainly a bit obnoxious, and definitely obstinate, and those eyes were weak with a kind of helplessness that he despised. Indeed, over all, the girl was not in the least impressive. Not in the least worth his time.

Apart from the fact that, deep down, he was positive that she would succeed.

No, he thought, only fools are positive in this world.

Which reminded him—

His gaze meandered upwards and he glanced about him. The grass was blue now, and the walls of the Labyrinth were mirrors, from which he shied away. Twisted, stunted trees with trunks like fat bellies surrounded him, a grotesque foresterie in which he could become lost, if he did not have the way firmly in mind.

Which, incidentally, he didn't.

Nothing was sure, here in the Labyrinth—

What world was this, anyway?

He thought he heard a scream, and with the jab of a guilty conscience, he turned around immediately, turning on his heel, and running instantly face to face with Jareth.

The Goblin King tilted his head to one side, nose to nose with Erik. Erik swallowed hard and tried to step away— something prevented him. There was a coldness all around him, and he could not move.

"Now," said Jareth, deliberately, "where— are you— going?"

Erik swallowed again, tried to speak. He only succeeded in palpitating his vocal cords and biting his own tongue.

Jareth laughed in his face.

"It isn't very much fun, is it, to have your free will overridden? Erik— dear Opera Ghost— treasured servant—"

His tone was a direct insult, and he stood for another moment, practically standing on Erik's toes, before stepping away. He walked a few paces away, put his hands behind his back, and contemplated the trees.

Suddenly, Erik could move again. He stepped backwards several feet, and stood, watching Jareth warily.

"How is it going?" said Jareth, apparently talking to one tree in particular.

Erik swallowed. "As well as can be expected," he said.

Jareth looked at him as though he'd forgotten he was there. He pointed a long finger at the tree.

"I was talking to him," he said.

Erik gritted his teeth and turned away.

"Ah," said Jareth, "and so you have been doing what I asked of you? I had heard rather differently, I must confess— there were certain rumors going around about you and the— _relationship_—" The word hissed from him like a snake. "—that you were building up with the girl."

"You're a sodding _idiot_," said Erik, still turned away.

Jareth hissed.

Erik glanced at him, and gestured away. "I was talking," he said mildly, "to the tree."

Jareth took a few long strides and was in Erik's face once more. "Keep in mind, if you will— she is _mine_. I do not share my possessions."

Erik stared him down, yellow eyes into steel blue ones.

"Neither do I," he said quietly.

For another moment they stared at each other, anger flying fast and thick between the two men.

"Christine—" started Erik.

"_Sarah_," countered Jareth, and pulled a crystal out of thin air. He twisted it, turning it suddenly flat, running it through his fingers, and tossing it to Erik, who caught it in his hand, and looked down at the object in his palm.

It had turned into an apple.

He regarded it for a moment, then looked up. Jareth had stepped back, and stood now several feet away. The masked man quirked one eyebrow at him.

"Poison?" he inquired mildly.

Jareth merely smirked.

"You will give that to Sarah. It should remove all necessity of your assistance beyond that— an easy way to complete your servitude, Mister Opera Ghost— I'd advise you to take it."

Erik looked down at the fruit, resting so innocently in his palm. He swallowed.

"I will do nothing to harm her," he said.

Jareth sighed.

"A bit late for a sudden development of a higher moral code, isn't it?"

"Its not the morals that bother me," said Erik, rubbing his chin and staring still at the apple, "it's the ethics."

"Leave ethics out of it."

"I don't think—"

Jareth stepped towards him again, his cape swirling sinuously around him. His voice went low and dangerous, all the taunting humor gone.

"If you want to see your Christine again, you will give her that," he said.

Erik looked up. Again, their eyes met.

"And," said Jareth, "you will remember that Sarah is mine."

Then he was gone, and Erik was left to puzzle over what it was he heard in Jareth's voice— that strange, familiar quality. He had a feeling he'd heard it many times before, and even spoken with it apparent in his own voice, more than once.

He walked with a slow measured tread, back towards where he had left Sarah.

Eventually, he recognized it.

Jealousy.


	14. She's Come Undone

**Chapter Fourteen: She's Come Undone**

"_What would I wish for? If I could count the stars, if I were given magic powers, if I could fly between the sun and the moon— what is there to wish for, except to come home to you? Oh Erik, Erik, you're so far away and there's no getting to you, now or ever. We're from two different worlds, you and I, and strong as love is, it cannot build bridges—"_

It was uncharacteristically silent in the castle beyond the Goblin City.

Jareth returned, his mouth turned down— something ate at him, nipping away the enjoyment he had previously taken in this mischief he caused, slowly destroying the veneer of cruelty that allowed him to take such detached interest in the affairs of humankind, revealing underneath—

He half-smiled.

More cruelty, and a cold stone heart that lusted but did not love.

He approached the chair— turned away from him, the high back all but hid the head of the person sitting in it. He could just make out some bright hair, wispy and thin; a slight humming noise provided the only definite clue that there was someone in the room other than Jareth.

He laid a gentle hand on the child's head, and she shrieked.

A child— yes. Nineteen, perhaps, perhaps twenty, but the kind of girl that would never become a woman. Large eyes peered at him, the throat palpitated as she swallowed her fear, and her fingers clutched at the arms of the chair, then released them to twine together nervously.

Jareth pulled a chair up with a gesture of his finger. Sinking into it, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.

"Would you like to see some magic, Christine?" he asked gently.

* * *

Sarah and Ludo walked along, aware that there were trees surrounding them now, but unable to remember entering the forest. Nervously, Sarah reached for Ludo's hand once more, finding comfort in the man's grasp. He twisted his lips in what was clearly intended to be a smile— the fact that all of his teeth were canines made it slightly scary, but Sarah took it as it was meant, and managed a smile back.

"I'm sure there's nothing frightening here," she said. "I mean— just a forest, right? Forests are nice."

She let go of Ludo's hand and patted him on the arm, then strode forward determinedly.

Behind her, something was happening. Claws had come and attached themselves to Ludo, curving around his arms and legs, trying to haul him upwards. He uttered a brief yell of alarm.

Sarah didn't turn around, only called, "Its alright, Ludo!"

Which is when he started to change again. In almost total silence, he beat the beasts off, and they fled with shrieks higher than the normal ear could hear.

"Nothing to be afraid of," said Sarah, trying to convince herself of the same fact, and apparently developing a headache. "Just a forest, nothing to worry about—"

Ludo let out a moan, and she turned around and screamed, but just a little.

She advanced on him and took one hairy arm tentatively, looking him up and down. "You changed back into a beast! How—"

Then something behind her made a noise, and she whirled around to see a slight, bent form, made apparently of grass. Bulged-out button eyes looked at her, the slit of a mouth and the slit of a nose, the angular chin, the apparent surfeit of elbows— all in all, frightening but hardly alarming. Sarah took a step backwards to Ludo's side.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Hurrr," said Ludo, without any clear inflection.

"Is it hurt? It looks hurt— is it alright?"

The creature looked up at her as she advanced tentatively. It was quite clearly very old, and shivered a bit with a noise like an ocean of dried grass rubbing their stalks together. It moved creakily, as though its joints, if it had joints, were stiff from disuse. She began to bend over it, and that's when the eyes flashed bright red, the teeth showed, and something grabbed her from behind.

In two seconds she was airborne, and screaming her head off.

Below her she could see several more of the creatures trying to pick up Ludo, without marked success. He roared at them, fended them off, and shouted—

"Sar-raaah!"

She looked up at the creature that held her in its grasp. Dirty grey talons dug into her shoulders, and above her she could see the face of the creature grinning down at her, those teeth in that impossibly tiny mouth wickedly sharp. She screamed at it.

It screamed back, and her head throbbed harder.

She beat at its grasp on her shoulders— it let out a call, and she felt something else, another of the creatures, come up behind her.

It took a very firm grasp on her head, and began to pull.

She screamed harder, louder, shriller than she ever had before, and felt an impact as something struck the creature that was trying to pull her head off. It shrieked and let go— another impact and the one who held her shoulders dropped her, its body bleeding from the blow. The downdraft of invisible wings hastened her fall towards the earth.

She was caught in a pair of warm, strong arms; caught and held as though she were precious to her bearer.

She said, "Is it alright?"

Behind them, Ludo began, apparently spontaneously, to change.

"Yes," said Erik, making no move to put her down, but instead pulling her closer, holding her up against his chest and resting her head in the crook of his neck. "It is safe."

Ludo gave a despairing groan, and, halfway through the transformation, began to change back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure. You can open your eyes now."

She clutched his shirt with both hands.

"I'm afraid to."

"There's nothing to be afraid of," he said, his voice soothing. "Its gone now."

"Gaaaaar," said Ludo, as his body struggled between man and beast, man and beast.

Sarah opened her eyes to look after him, but got distracted by the warm amber eyes so close to hers. For a moment they simply looked at each other; then she cupped her hand around the back of his head, pulled him forward, and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Thank you," she said.

Erik put her down, very carefully, and rubbed his fingertips where her lips had touched. She could not tell if it was disgust or appreciation— likely the former, she thought wryly— only, he _had_ come back for her, after all—

She turned to Ludo.

"What is it?"

Ludo moaned and his body shuddered. Hair began to sprout and his shoulders bulked.

Sarah turned to Erik. "What—"

"He is bi-species," said Erik explanatorily. "Usually the transformation is triggered by some word or other. I would guess that is what's happening." He gave a small, amused smile. "Nature of the beast, as it were."

"Aaaaaargh!" said Ludo, as the hair fell out. His skin was red from twisting and changing so often in such a short time.

"Oh!" said Sarah, clasping her hands and looking on him sympathetically. "Poor Ludo! We have to figure out what the word is so we can stop saying it."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrgh!" said Ludo, as the process began again. Erik chuckled quietly to himself. Sarah looked at him.

"It isn't funny!"

Ludo gave another moan, and Erik laughed a little harder.

"What?" demanded Sarah. "Stop laughing! We have to figure out what the word is."

"I know what the word is."

"Well, tell me! What is—"

Erik stepped close and laid a hand over her mouth.

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Understand?" he inquired.

Sarah nodded.

"Alright then. Now. Let us continue. We have to save your brother now, don't we?"

Sarah watched him as he removed his hand from her mouth and began to walk on. She wondered what it was that had made him decide to come back—

But to ask him would, unless she indulged in some fancy word-work, cause poor Ludo to change back again— clearly, she thought, looking at the man/beast, he would not appreciate it. He looked tired and haggard.

So she was content, for the moment, to catch up with Erik and take his arm, walking along with him.

"What were those things, anyway?"

"Wolds," said Erik. "You must always be careful when entering a foresterie— wolds are the most dangerous creatures in the Labyrinth. If they carried you off, I doubt even Jareth could save you in time."

She clutched his arm closer, and he laid one cool hand over hers, allowing her fingers to intertwine with his own. Unspoken between them were apologies, explanations, remonstrances—

And a secret.


	15. Deceived

**Chapter Fifteen: Deceived**

_...but she was unaware of any deception, being exceptionally simple-minded; he had told her of his love, and she believed him. What else to do? There was no one else to tell her pleasant things, whether they were lies or not and she could not bear to be left alone._

They walked on.

On and on, the hour growing late though time was certainly different here in the Labyrinth, Sarah was sure that she was running out of it. It was late afternoon by the look of things a red light that must be the sun was slowly disappearing, giving way to a cool grey-blue that reminded Sarah of her stepmothers eyes. She had successfully avoided thinking of her parents, till now now, uncertainty crept back into her mind. Wouldn't they just be glad if she made it home? Wouldn't they get over their disappointment at losing Toby, if they had their only daughter?

They would get over it

Perhaps even have another child.

She suddenly became shocked at herself, pushing the nagging voice away. It didn't even sound like her...swamped with the suspicion that there was something foreign in her head, she let go of Erik's arm and stepped away from him, putting a hand to her temple and frowning.

Erik watched her.

"Are you alright?"

She glanced at him, glanced at Ludo, who, back in beast form, was sitting on his haunches patiently waiting for them to move on again.

"Fine," she said. "I'm just... just a little hungry." It was true, anyway. She hadn't eaten in hours and hours. Her stomach was empty as a drum and she would have given a lot for some french fries.

Erik swallowed hard.

"You should have looked for the apple trees in the foresterie," he said. "They are far better apples than you will find anywhere else."

She shrugged. "I was a bit busy being carried off by the wolds, actually, otherwise I would have."

Erik hid a smile.

"And anyway, if you eat something from an enchanted land, don't you have to stay there for ever and ever? I remember reading something like that, some time."

"No," said Erik, "that part is a fairy tale. The truth is, food from enchanted lands is so wonderful, no one ever wants to leave." He pulled something out of his cloak, glanced at it for a moment, then handed it to her.

She looked at the apple, shiny and enticing in her palm.

Erik smiled at her as she looked back up.

"I anticipated your wants," he said quietly.

There was a hollow in the pit of her stomach that was unexpectedly filled with warmth she smiled back blindingly, the most real smile she'd displayed all day, and immediately put the apple to her mouth, not even bothering to thank him.

Erik backed away from her a few steps, leaned against the wall and watched. He did not know what effect the fruit would have; suddenly whisk Sarah away to the castle, or to the beginning of the Labyrinth again, he did not know. He hoped it would be entirely painless, whatever it was. Surely Jareth would not...

Sarah knew there was something wrong the instant she swallowed.

She looked up at Erik, her eyes filled with horror. He stood up straight.

"What have you done?" she whispered.

He stepped forward, but she had collapsed before he could reach her, her eyes rolling up into her head, her body falling with a painful thump to the cold stone ground. Ludo gave a cry of upset surprise, and lumbered forwards; Erik was bent over her, then down on his knees, holding her against his chest, rocking her as he felt her heartbeat slow to a stop.

He felt the shock and despair that comes when you wish more than anything that you hadn't done what you just did; you wish more than anything that you could turn back time; but its all in vain, reaching for ghosts that don't even turn their heads to look at you with hollow eyes.

As Erik cried, the tears running down his face, beneath the mask, and dampening Sarah's skin, his gaze fell on the apple, which lay as evidence of his betrayal, the single bite rebuking him. He grasped it immediately, and sank his teeth into the pure skin on the other side, not allowing himself time to think. He'd gone without thinking his entire life, relying on his reactions and intelligence to see him through. Well, they could see him through...

And they could see him _out_.

The apple fell from his nerveless hand, split apart like glass on the ground. Each half had a bite out of it, a piece missing, and from the middle crawled a long black worm.

Two bodies lay entangled on the ground. Their heartbeats so slow as to be imperceptible but still there.

* * *

"Watch now, child."

Jareth sat by the window, Christine silent at his side, and wove reality into complicated shapes with his fingers. As he spellbound waiting hearts, he sang-spoke his words of madness, tried and true.

_"Weaver of the tangled web_

_Where silk was once, now words instead_

_A life is gone. Oh, how she cries!_

_As deep inside her something dies_

_Her creation, with touch soft and cool_

_Now has a voice, wicked and cruel_

_When he speaks, to her seduce_

_She cant resist, so what's the use?_

_Her lover's touch is true and sure_

_only leaves her wanting more_

_She catches breath and cries aloud_

_Her tears become her funeral shroud_

_To keep his warmth, she must let go_

_And never let the real her know_

_All day she plays a careful role_

_Aches for his touch on her soul_

_For all the time they spend apart_

_She aches for his warmth in her heart_

_In her total dearth of pride_

_She aches to feel him deep inside_

_Eaten up in unholy bliss_

_She cries out, "Have I come to this?"_

_She's lost herself, forgot the feel_

_of what is false, and what is real_

_Gone the difference, if she ever knew_

_Between what is real, and what is true."_

Sometimes, the world is ruled by magic.


	16. The Lost and the Lonely

**Chapter Sixteen: The Lost and the Lonely**

_His eyes were kind, and she looked up into them, knowing not what to do... except give herself as a gift, willingly lost to the beautiful strange._

She found herself, without quite being sure how, in a vast room. The ceiling arched high overhead, clear blue as a sky, but too far away to tell if it was real or only cunningly painted. The room was so large, it took her a moment to realize that it was absolutely round; a mathematically perfect sphere. She knew without looking that the floor was rounded too, sloping gently down to the middle, the surface smooth and slick as glass.

She felt a brief flicker of claustrophobia, but it was quickly beaten down, replaced with a sense of awe at the beauty of the creatures that danced in front of her.

There were human faces there, but they were a minority. More often was the sharp nose of a fox, the jutting chin of a wold, the burning circle of a fire sprite, the snout of a fiendish. They danced together, species and species; it didn't seem to matter; male and female was the point, and the dances were wild and pleasurable, the participants whirling about the floor, flushed with exertion, eyes bright with a fierce joy.

She stepped towards them, and watched them dance.

The music was wild as well, a thin high piping providing the main melody; somewhere a thousand unseen voices sang, all perfectly pitched, perfectly matching. She looked about and discovered they all emanated from one woman, a tiny young thing, barely twelve by the look of her; she had a faery's sharp ears and a fiendish's snout, but she sang with the voices of angels, and when she looked at Sarah her eyes were empty.

She sang:

_Watch the sun die, we are all dying_

_We've nowhere to go to, nowhere to run_

_We hold to each other and hope that by lying_

_We can keep living, outliving the sun._

_All I ask is this, of you_

_A single request, a simple wish only_

_Don't take me away; as I will, let me stay_

_I may die if I leave the lost and the lonely_

_We only stop dancing when we have died out_

_Our flame, it still burns, so bright and so well_

_We know we would never be welcome in heaven_

_Death dances with us, and so welcome to hell_

The faces whirled, a bright jumble of colors and shapes, heartbreakingly beautiful in diversity, each one unique. As Sarah watched, she saw flickers and changes in them, as though seeing light through the seams of reality, and part of her realized that they were all wearing masks.

The other part swore it was a lie, and longed to join them, to dance until she laid down to die.

Looking down at herself, she saw that she wore the same sort of costume that they were attired in: some strange material, softer than silk and smoother than satin, silent so as to not to rustle when she moved, and thin so as to flare out when she danced. The perfect dress for dancing in, yards of fabric in the skirt, covering the rest of her tightly, except for the sleeves, which flared out just above her wrists and ran trailing strips of cloth, like kite tails, for another two feet. Looking down at herself, deeply admiring the spareness of her own body, she began to sway without realizing it.

The face of the singer took on a look of satisfaction, but the empty eyes did not change.

Sarah began to hum with the melody:

_Forget the remains of your tattered reality_

_Empty treasures, rejections, force time and tide_

_You are here now, and you're free, and she wants you _

_Lose yourself in the eyes of the one at your side_

_Dance it away, sing the song of deception_

_Illness, disease, shattered heart, broken bone_

_Old age and anger, can't face tomorrow_

_Lose yourself in the song of the lost and alone_

She lost control.

She strode forward into the crowd, stood in the middle with her arms out at her side, and danced and danced and danced. Alone as she was, the creatures laughed; and they all danced with her, choosing her for their partner, choosing her over anyone; the room spun, her head spun, the world spun, and she turned one last time and looked into the eyes of the Goblin King.

That so-familiar face, that cruel mouth, those steel blue eyes...

He wore Erik's mask, and everything about him was strange.

Sarah stood still and looked at him, tilted her head from side to side, unable to pinpoint exactly what it was that was out of the ordinary.

Then she realized what she was seeing.

That same flicker of reality showed in his face, and for a moment she could see the amber eyes staring back at her, wide and oddly frightened.

They clasped each other tight and had to whisper in the other's ear in order to make themselves heard.

"Do you see me for who I am?" asked Erik.

"I think so," said Sarah. She felt ready to cry her bewilderment out on his shoulder, but managed to contain herself, at least for a while. "You are Erik, aren't you?"

His sigh of relief was warm against her earlobe. "Yes, I am Erik. And you are Sarah."

"You look like Jareth," she whispered.

"And you," he whispered back, "look like Christine."

The sound pounded at them, chipping away their tight hold on reality. Even as Sarah stepped back from him and looked up, the golden eyes were replaced once more by the steel blue ones, and the only vestige of Erik left was the mask, which didn't seem to change. She could tell from the expression of naked longing on his face that she now appeared to be Christine... his Christine. She wondered what she looked like, and felt a little jealous. It must be wonderful to have a man look at you in that way, and want you for_ you_, and not because you resembled someone else.

Jareth... no, Erik! Erik! pulled her close again, and she shook the fog out of her head and clutched her arms around him.

"Why is he doing this?"

There was no need to ask who she referred to; they both knew that Jareth was responsible for all that had happened.

"I don't know," said Erik, and shook his head. For a brief moment, the feel of her body against him had been so indescribably wonderful and so wonderfully familiar; but it was not Christine. No. It was not Christine.

The next second he had forgotten again as a new verse of the song was started, and his mouth traced a path down her neck, coming to rest for a brief second on her collarbone.

Sarah closed her eyes and shoved him violently away.

He stepped back with a gasp of protest, and the amber eyes were back again for a split second; then she grabbed his wrist and pulled him close again, Jareth the Goblin King, her lord and master and her eternal slave.

* * *

Far away in the castle, Jareth watched them through a window into oblivion, his eyes amused and harshly sad. He saw how they danced, longing in their movements, and reveled in what mischief he had caused, and cursed himself for what he had done, as well, for jealousy dies hard. He glanced up.

"Christine," he said, gently.

She came to him; she had learned to obey what he asked of her, and to do so promptly. He put an arm about her waist and pulled her into his lap, bidding her to look through the window.

"Tell me what you see, hmm?" he breathed in her ear.

Christine frowned, looking at the spectacle of the dance, momentarily confused by the shifting patterns, the whirling colors.

Then she cried, "I see you! I see you and your Sarah-girl, dancing like mad."

Jareth nodded, laughed to himself, pulled her close in an almost-hug. It hadn't been long, but he had become rather fond of Christine, her unthinking obedience, her absence of self-will; it was refreshing, he thought darkly, after dealing with Sarah. He cast a brief glance over to the child where he was being rocked; Tybalt, the unlucky goblin who had been abruptly promoted to Chief of Babysitting, was covered in spit up and did not look happy.

All this for a child.

And for Toby, as well.

He turned his attention back to the window. The dancers had whirled between them and the ones they watched; as they went on their way, Christine gave another cry of recognition.

"Erik!"

Jareth nodded slowly.

"Yes, it is your long-suffering Opera Ghost. And who do you see dancing with him, hm?"

She squinted.

"Its me," she said, softly.

Jareth laughed aloud.

"And now that you are sufficiently confused," he said, "allow me to let you see with eyes of truth."

He set her aside, and ran a hand over his face. When his fingers came away, his palm held a pair of steel blue orbs, and he looked up at Christine with empty sockets.

"Give it a try," he said. "Its quite entertaining."

* * *

_Its only me now, and I sing a lament_

_There was no such thing as my one and only_

_Days draw to a close, my breathing is spent_

_This beautiful hell of the lost and the lonely_

The music was possession, Sarah and Erik helpless in the force of it, caught in a trap from which they couldn't escape.

They danced.

As they circled around each other, their eyes met and the masks were complete; all they could see was the object of their desire, looking back at them with eyes of love.

Erik's fingers curled around Sarah's hand, his touch deceptively light; when his other hand pressed at her waist, he left bruises.

Deep within him he knew the truth of this deception, but truth was not the strongest force in him then; it could not keep him from pulling her close and kissing her slowly, his lips and tongue moved as in a silent prayer; ecstasy in his false belief, combined with a hidden need for forgiveness.

She was too young, and she couldn't respond, no matter who she believed him to be. That this opportunity came a year too soon was both her tragedy and her saving, for as Jareth- Erik- the man pressed insistent lips upon her, his hands moving over her back, holding her close, she freed her mouth and spoke into his ear.

"I can't! I can't!"

Erik stopped dead still, let go of her quite calmly; then turned, roaring in a deep and pained rage, to pick up a chair and hurl it at the wall.

The room shattered, and a cold wind blew.

Erik howled out grief and rage at his lot, at life, at everything, and his voice was louder than the tempest itself.


	17. Captive

**Chapter Seventeen: Captive**

"_Beware the sleeping times. The times when your mind is so sure of itself that you feel impregnable, invincible. There's always some jerk out for vengeance who knows how to take advantage, and you shall soon find that you are quite pregnable indeed."_

The world had come down in pieces around them, and Sarah awoke, blinking slightly, to find herself caught in Erik's tight grasp.

His arms were about her, holding her up against him, and he whispered broken apologies in her ear.

She lay content for just a while, unwilling to move, until the worried whine of Ludo came and she realized where, exactly, she was. Detaching Erik from her person, she pushed herself up, feeling the streaks of tears running down her face.

She stepped toward Ludo, giving him a comforting smile, and he roared with joy.

Then she turned back to Erik, a little tentatively.

"Was I— crying in my sleep?"

He saw instantly that she remembered none of what had gone on, and knew instinctively that it would not be wise to bring it up.

"I believe," he said, with a catch in his voice that he coughed to get rid of, "that you were missing your brother when you fell asleep, nothing more."

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded slightly. She didn't look entirely assured, but she was willing to suspend her disbelief and listen to Erik.

The Labyrinth worked its magic in mysterious ways.

Erik noticed the land flicker and change twice, and began to look around for Turnabout.

They walked on down the path, right and left turning; once, Erik called to them to stop, and doubled back to an opening he had seen out of the corner of his eye. It was cleverly hidden behind a curtain of ivy, and when he held it aside and the doorway appeared it was like some magnificent vanishing act in reverse. Sarah couldn't keep from smiling as she stepped towards the door.

Erik held up a hand in caution. "Let Ludo go first," he said. "No one would dare attack him."

She looked at him worriedly. "How do you know? He might not be the biggest creature in the Labyrinth, there could easily be something larger than he is. How do you know that he won't get attacked?"

Erik shook his head, light glinting off the mask. His thin slips set in a vague smile.

"Trust me," he said.

Sarah stared at him a moment longer, then turned to Ludo. "Alright— you go first."

"And you go just after him," said Erik, his voice low.

She whirled back to him. "What's going on?"

"Never you mind," said Erik sternly. "Just do as I say."

Sarah frowned mightily, but Ludo was already stepping through the door, and she caught hold of his tail and followed.

Erik stood behind, back against the wall, half hidden in the ivy— when Turnabout walked through cheerfully, turning to lock the door behind him, Erik caught him by the shoulders.

From inside the room came Ludo's roar of distress, and Sarah's cry.

"There's no way out!"

Turnabout gave a shriek like a kicked dog at his surprise, then relaxed visibly when he saw it was Erik who held him.

"Ah, fellow servant of His Majesty." He swept him a bow. "Doing our good work, are we?"

Erik tipped his head to one side.

"Tell me, Turnabout, what was your price?"

Turnabout raised bushy eyebrows.

"Beg pardon, monsieur?"

"What did Jareth promise you, for helping him lead Sarah astray? I look forward to quite a large reward— I was merely curious about your prospects."

Turnabout looked at the odd glint in Erik's eyes, and hesitated for just a moment.

"Why, I am to ascend to a throne in the castle beyond the goblin city," he said. His eyes began to glow a bit, feverishly. "A smaller throne than Jareth's, of course, but a throne nonetheless. I suspect I will be second in all the land! Why, brother— what did he promise _you_?"

Erik looked at him as though with pity, shaking his head slightly.

"He promised me the greatest treasure the world has ever held," he said slowly, and watched the pride drain out of Turnabout's face to be replaced with a tinge of jealousy. Then Erik leaned forward to whisper in Turnabout's ear.

"I just thought you should know."

With a swift movement of his hands, he had pulled Turnabout forward, hitting his forehead against the wall. Turnabout collapsed in a heap on the ground, and Erik stepped over him to open the door and let Sarah and Ludo out.

He smiled slightly at the suspicious look she gave him.

"It may take me a hundred years to gain back your trust," he said, "but at the end, I believe it will be worth it. I lay a great gift at your feet, mademoiselle—" He stepped back and indicated the prone body of Turnabout with a flourish of his cape.

Sarah looked down, then looked back up.

Erik smiled wider.

"Someone who knows how to find the castle at the center of the Labyrinth," he said softly. "And he's all yours."

Sarah returned her gaze to Turnabout's foxlike body, and took on an expression of excited hope. "You think he can help us?"

"I know he can."

She glanced up.

"What makes you so sure?"

He bent and took hold of Turnabout's arms, hauling him upright and handing him to Ludo, who took on the weight as though Turnabout were a tiny child, hardly any burden at all. Erik smiled slightly as Turnabout's mouth slacked open and a string of drool descended towards the ground.

"A caged animal will do anything to get out of its trap," he said softly. "Its not till you back them to the wall that you find out how hard they can fight."

Sarah wondered if he was talking about their captive— or about himself. She didn't dare interrupt his reverie to ask. His eyes were soft and reminiscent and cold, totally unlike their usual hard warmth— for a moment she saw what he must have looked like when he was mad, when he lived underneath an Opera House and listened to music, ate slept and breathed music,all day long.

She shivered.

Erik glanced back up at her at her movement.

The smile turned to vast amusement, and she saw to her surprise that Erik had a dimple— a half-one, anyway, on his left cheek. Instantly mesmerized by it, she laughed aloud.

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist.

"You shall conquer, milady, if I have anything to do with it."

She believed him.


	18. The Way

**Chapter Eighteen: The Way**

_They had life for a little while, and though they did not know the direction it was going; be it up or down, left or right, it moved ever forwards, and that had to be enough._

Turnabout's eyelids fluttered, and he groaned.

"More," said Erik.

Sarah poured the rest of the water over Turnabout's head.

Turnabout shrieked and scrabbled with dirty claws. Erik regarded him with a deep satisfaction as he finally came fully awake.

"You snore like the dickens," he informed him, and handed him his hat.

Turnabout blinked and rubbed water out of his eyes.

"What did you go and do that for?" he demanded snappishly.

"Which?" asked Erik. "Knocking you out, or waking you up again?"

Turnabout glared at him and put his hat on his head. It turned out to be full of water, and he shrieked again. Sarah giggled, Ludo laughed, and even Erik smiled. He was doing that more and more often now— the deep depression that sanity had forced on him was ebbing slowly, and he felt as though he would prevail, in the end— a feeling he hadn't had in a very, very long time.

Perhaps never.

"You knocked me out, why did you have to revive me?" complained Turnabout. "Obviously you've gone turncoat—"

"Obviously," said Erik, slowly removing Sarah's arm from around his neck. Sarah stepped away from him— he confused her still. Welcoming her touches one moment, rejecting them the next— his personality was exceedingly mercurial, and although she had tendencies that way as well, she resented it. She folded her arms and stared at the ground.

"Traitor," spat Turnabout.

Erik stood up straighter.

"I took no oath of allegiance," he said smoothly. "And I never claimed to be a servant of your Goblin King. I serve no one, and hold no alliances worthy of mentioning."

Turnabout's eyes flicked between him and Sarah.

"That would appear to be a lie."

Erik bowed frostily.

"I choose the path that serves my own ends," he said quietly. Sarah looked at him sharply, but his face was carefully blank. She understood then— her memory had been coming back in bits and pieces, and she had flashes of a ballroom full of strangers, and she herself was dancing with Erik, and Erik thought she was his Christine. She knew that he was trying to distance himself from that, get himself back to a time when he and Christine were the only people of consequence— he couldn't afford to let anyone else matter. He had to focus, to concentrate.

She understood it, but she hated it. She was human; and humans do not like to be overlooked or ignored.

She was cursed— or blessed— with a sudden reliving of the feel of Erik's mouth on her own, and she shivered and clutched her arms about herself. Even if she saved Toby and got back home— which looked less and less likely, even now— she would never be the same bright young girl, dreaming of knights in armor and maidens in distress. For now, she didn't see that it was worth it— she had lived a dream up till now, and all she wanted was for the dream to end.

There was a half-hidden sorrow in Erik's eyes as he looked at her, and they formed an unspoken truce as their eyes met.

Turnabout watched them.

He sighed.

"It matters not what you say," he said. "True allegiances always show— you can't make them disappear with a snap of your fingers. There's no denying the deep things of the world— should someone make you laugh or make you cry, you'll take that with you to the end of the earth. She's got into your head now— you could kill her or you could sleep with her or you could never see or speak with her again, and it wouldn't matter a bit."

Erik took his arm and pulled him up.

"Lead on," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And silently, if you please— your tongue may get you into trouble."

"Ah," said Turnabout expansively, "the tongue— the tongue! Such trouble from the application of such a little thing. Why, I knew a girl once—"

Erik shoved him ahead of them, keeping hold of his arm and twisting it behind Turnabout's back. Turnabout yelped and then was quiet.

He led them on, knowing quite well where they wanted to go.

And, he reasoned, it wasn't a betrayal of allegiance if your life is threatened— as, he was sure by the look in Erik's eyes, it clearly was. After all, one's first allegiance must always be to oneself.

Still, he regretted the almost certain loss of the prize he deserved for serving the Goblin King.

Ah well, couldn't be helped now.

He led them a ducking, weaving path, sometimes doubling back to take a different turning. All the while, he hummed to himself, occasionally flicking his fingers commandingly at a wall, causing the path to close up behind them. Sarah looked about her as they went, marveling at the vast differences in texture, shape, color, form, objects, people; each place unique and different from the last, each staggering in an odd way. It was still, even after all this time, dawning on her the difference between her normal world and the Labyrinth— it still astounded her, and for a moment she stood stock still, not even drawing breath.

Erik seized her by the arm and pulled her along.

"We're so close," he said. "Last-ditch efforts are even more dangerous to us. Beware, Sarah."

She nodded and hurried along at his side.

Two more turns, to the right and then the left, and straight in front of them were the enormous metal gates of the Goblin City. The group of them stood in awe, looking up at the gates with the beginning of dread.

Turnabout, taking advantage of their distraction, twisted his arm from Erik's grasp. However, he didn't run away immediately, but instead stood and looked at them.

"You're going in there, are you?"

Sarah nodded.

"We have to. My brother is in there."

"My Christine is in there," said Erik, his face set, his eyes gazing over the top of the gates to where he could see the top level of the castle. Somewhere in there—

"Well," said Turnabout, and rubbed at his arm, looking at them thoughtfully. "How are you going to get through the gates, I wonder?"

Sarah frowned. "I hadn't thought about that."

Erik still could not drag his gaze away from the castle, and so he was no help, simply shrugging and murmuring nothing in particular.

Turnabout coughed delicately. Sarah looked at him.

"If I may make a suggestion," he said.

Sarah turned her frown on him. "Why would you help us now?"

"I adore causing mischief," said Turnabout, with a raising of his slim shoulders. "I'm incorrigible that way."

Erik snorted.

"And what is that intended to imply, Monsieur Opera Ghost?" said Turnabout snappishly, looking at him.

"Anyway," said Sarah, anxious that he shouldn't get distracted. "Your suggestion."

"Well," said Turnabout, "what do you think?"

She shrugged. "I suppose we could climb over them somehow— or maybe Ludo could push them open, he's pretty strong—"

She turned to Ludo, who shook his head and moaned softly.

"Maybe not."

"Quite the conundrum," said Turnabout, with a wicked grin. He held up one finger, and walked to the gates. "Knock," he said, "and the door will open."

He rapped on a bronze section with his paw, three times.

A small door opened just in front of him.

He turned back to them and gave them a swift smile.

"In the new world order," he said, "remember me."

He disappeared into the ground, leaving the three of them standing, staring at the door.

The open door into the Goblin City.


	19. March on Goblin City

**Chapter 19: March on Goblin City**

_They held forth in the castle, the king and his queen, looking down on the peasants as they began to revolt. She spoke quietly, "So this is what death looks like from the other side." He nodded his head heavily; "All they will be left with is a torn and corrupted nation. To govern themselves, they must learn to let go." Side by side, the ghosts turned and walked away._

The unevenly-cobbled streets of the Goblin City were strangely deserted, and their footsteps echoed oddly through the narrow alleyways. Sarah reached for Ludo's hand, the furry warmth of it closing around her fingers comfortingly— and then for Erik's. His skin was cold, and she clutched him close.

"— so quiet," she said.

"I know."

"Is it usually like this? Oh, sorry, Ludo."

He shook his head slightly.

"I don't believe so, no. Seemed as if things were extremely busy when last I was here—"

He didn't mention that the last time he was here, it was just before her brother was stolen, and Jareth had already sent him out, already decided on his plan. It led him to wonder how much of what had happened was simply part of Jareth's purpose, his plot for them both— and to begin to wonder that was enough to give anyone a sense of futility, of pointlessness.

They needed more than that, now.

They needed strong wills and brave hearts.

They were out of luck, Erik thought wryly, in that department. Currently all they had going for them was a stupidly optimistic refusal to give in and give up— and that was mostly Sarah's. Ludo was perfectly content just to follow her around and do whatever she bid him, and Erik himself—

—was pretty much operating on automatic at this point. He could hear silent cries from Christine, far above him in the castle, willing him to come and rescue her. She was all he could think of, and if he thought of her he would lose all functioning intelligence— and so he simply shut down his brain and looked on with a detached cynicality, almost amused by their progression down the empty streets. He caught his foot on a slanted cobble, and gravity took hold and pulled him down.

Sarah cried out and bent over him, rolling him to his back and peering anxiously in his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Erik stared upwards. Beyond her he could see the sky— nearly black now as night had taken possession. He had always loved the night, never been afraid of the dark like a normal human, rather, relished it and befriended it and employed it—

"Erik? Erik, come back to me."

Her face swam into view and he focused again on her eyes.

She shook her head slightly. "Where did you go?"

Erik breathed in a deep and ragged breath. Once again he was a man walking the line between sanity and madness— a wayward breeze and he could fall irrevocably to one side or the other. But for now, he put it all aside and remembered what he was—

Just a man.

"Lets go find Jareth," he said.

He let her help him up, though he didn't need any assistance, and they hurried on their way. The streets were narrow and confusing, the buildings leaning over them like beasts over their prey. Every once in a while, as they took another turning, they saw some part of a creature disappearing around the far corner— this was enough to make them highly nervous, anticipating an attack of some sort. But they reached the entrance to the castle without incident, and stood finally in the last stretch of ground, looking at the castle doors. They were quite prosaic, actually, heavy dark wood with metal strips, of no more than average size. Sarah breathed out a sigh of disbelieving relief, and ran forward.

And suddenly there they were, the hundreds and hundreds of goblins, all servants of their King, all seeking to do his bidding, standing between them and the castle as the last barrier to success. Halfway to the door, Sarah stopped still, and Erik and then Ludo caught up with her. They stood together, the three of them, utterly at a loss.

"Is there any other way?" asked Sarah tightly.

Erik shook his head.

"No— only the one door," he said.

She let out a sob. High above them, the great clock clicked on, shoving, enticing, moving time forward—

They had five minutes.

Both Sarah and Jareth could think of nothing.

Ludo said, "It."

They swung startled gazes at him, and watched as he completed the transformation in record time, obviously trying to hurry at along as he grunted and frowned in concentration. Soon enough he stood there by them, a beast once more, giant and hairy and—

And oh so much bigger than the miscellaneous goblins that stood in their way.

He clasped an arm around Sarah and picked her up off the ground, holding her to his side. He tried to do the same to Erik but the masked man fended him off. With a grunt, he began to run.

He hit the massed goblins like a bowling ball, and they went flying every which way. The furred juggernaut carried on through them, plowing them out of his way, Erik running close behind. They reached the door just as the goblins started to recover and close in again.

Ludo put Sarah down, and pulled the door open for her.

Erik pulled her towards him and his lips brushed her forehead— his good luck charm to her. Then he shoved her at the door.

"Go," he whispered urgently.

She took one last terrified glance at him and the goblins that advanced on them, and ran.


	20. One Alone

**A/N: This chapter and one more, and its done. Review, let me know what you think! Thanks much!**

**Chapter Twenty: One Alone**

_And this was all... this was the end. She looked down at his slowly-cooling body, looked down at the knife in her hand. To have the power to bring the end about, to have the strength to choose: and to have the heart that made her cry after everything was said and done._

The interior of the castle beyond the Goblin City was cool and dim, and full of the oddest things Sarah had ever seen. Considering that she had just made it through the Labyrinth, this was saying something.

Five minutes.

Five minutes.

Only five minutes.

Her heart pounded and she gulped— her throat dry as a desert, she wanted nothing more than this to be over so she could be at home, with a drink in her hand, a movie on the TV, and all she had to worry about was what to wear to school the next day. No, strike that. Make it a weekend, and all she had to worry about was— nothing. The worrying was done by her parents, and she was free as only a child could be.

She saw then that she had too much imagination for her own good, for there she was standing stock still in the hallway and a minute had gone by without her even realizing it.

Utterly unseen by her, Jareth stepped out from behind a pillar.

He stood behind her tall and dignified— leaning forward, he blew gently on her neck, his breath icy cold and slightly damp, and she shivered, but did not turn around.

He began to speak.

"_She awoke one dreary day_

_To find her mind had gone astray_

_So minus reason, without rhyme_

_She drew near the hill, began to climb—"_

Sarah heard the voice, but didn't know where it came from. All she knew was it made her want to stand still, stand still and never move, and she couldn't let that happen.

She lost another half a minute fighting with herself.

Jareth went on, his voice smooth and soothing, strange and beautiful and seductive, whispering to Sarah to let it all go, leave cares behind— to stay here with him forever.

"_Half black with blood, half white with snow_

_The Labyrinth lay far below_

_She climbed onwards, her spirits drunk_

_The earth beneath seemed to have shrunk_

_She was alone and yet she knew_

_She had companions many, too_

_They dart about, sigh in her ear_

_As if to say, "We're here, we're here!"_

_Their pitches sharp, their tones were sad_

_The voices slowly drove her mad"_

Sarah took in a deep breath and pushed herself forwards.

Ahead of her in the long hallway, a clock—

Its hands pointed out the time to her, shouted at her and blared at her, but she had to blink at it several times to finally understand.

She had sixty seconds.

"_Before they could become a face_

_She breathed in deep, jumped into space_

_And as she fell from up so high_

_She sprouted wings, and learnt to fly..."_

Sarah closed her eyes tightly and shouted, "Its not fair!"

"Isn't it?" said the voice of Jareth in her ear. "I wonder what your basis for comparison is."

This time, she turned around, but he caught her gaze with his and she turned as he walked around in front of her again, so she was facing the clock.

"What are you doing here, Sarah?"

"I came for my brother," she said, gritting her teeth. "Give him back— we had a bargain."

He raised his eyebrows. "This bargain we had— I don't suppose you have anything in writing, bychance."

Tears stung her eyes.

"You can't go back on your word! I made it all the way here through the Labyrinth in the time you gave me. Now give me my brother, please!"

She thought she heard Toby cry, somewhere off in the distance, but she couldn't be sure.

He stood in front of her once more, and his eyes seemed almost kind.

"Sarah," he said, "I ask for so little from you. Fear me— love me—"

She blinked slowly and looked at him through her tears.

"Erik told me—"

He curled his lip spitefully.

"He told me what he wanted from Christine— to own her, to possess her. You can't ask that of anyone— you can't _own_ someone unless they give you permission, and relinquish themselves. And I do not give myself up." Her chin trembled as she fought for control, tried to turn her tears into a glare. "I belong to _me_."

The coldness was there again, back in his steel gaze.

"A true bargain, then," he said. "You make it to that clock before time runs out, and I shall give you your brother and you will never hear from me again. On the other hand, if you do not— you give yourself to me, entirely, and that will be the end of it."

He didn't wait for an agreement— she had no choice.

He stepped around behind her and she heard his voice in her ear.

"You wouldn't be unhappy— I would slave for you, Sarah, move worlds and murder men—"

Her eyes fixed on the clock, and she tried desperately to make herself move. But time went on, leaving her behind. She could not take a single step more.

The clock began to strike.

She wavered on the balance between victory and defeat and, slowly but surely, began to fall on the losing side.

Then there was a flash of black beside her, and a burst of action in front of her eyes.

As the clock chimed out the hour, it came crashing down.

Erik stood in the midst of the wreckage, breathing hard, hair falling over his face and his eyes blazing.


	21. All That You Can't Do On Your Own

**Chapter Twenty One: All That You Can't Do On Your Own**

_There it was, then, there in sight: the end. It hovered like a butterfly over the tips of her fingers, brushed her with a newfound glory, taunted her senses and entrapped her mind, and then it was gone. The most elusive creature ever created, the end; for it never truly comes. No matter what happens, what words are spoken, there is always more to the story._

It took her some time to realize that they had won.

She was told it, over and over again, by Erik, by Ludo who had transformed back into a human for the occasion—

Not by Jareth, though. As the clock had been destroyed he had disappeared, utterly unwilling to admit defeat; no matter how hard they searched, he could not be found. His eyes seemed to hang in the sky far above, but the ceiling got in the way and she could only sense them there, not see them.

Tybalt the Head Goblin in Charge of Babysitting was more than happy to give custody of Toby back over to her. Sarah pulled him tight against her and hugged him hard, harder than she ever had done. Looking in his eyes as he laughed with delight at seeing her again, she wondered if he would even remember any of the time he had spent in the castle of the Goblin King.

Probably not, she knew.

She smiled back at him and jounced him on her hip— he squealed with glee and clapped his hands.

Temblor the Goblin Jailer handed Erik the keys of Christine's room, and then ran from the expression in his eyes. Erik unlocked the door, took a deep breath, and braced himself.

She had run away from him, after all.

He pushed the thought out of his mind and opened the door.

Sarah stood to one side, watching them as they embraced each other hard— a woman and the man she still called her angel, his cowl half off his head, a brilliant smile on both their faces— he pulled her up, picked her up off the ground, and buried his face in her shoulder, and she cried into his cloak.

Sarah simply watched, and bounced Toby absentmindedly.

She felt— she wasn't sure what, exactly. Certainly happy to see Erik and Christine as they were. It would take someone with no heart to not be happy for them, in the face of their joy and delight. But she also felt just a tiny bit sad— Erik hadn't so much as looked at her since the clock had gone down.

And after all they had shared—

Well. The adventure was over now, and there was nothing left to do— except go home.

She hugged Ludo fiercely, in both his forms, and thanked him for all he had done. He nodded slowly and gave her a careful embrace.

"Friend," he said.

She laughed and nodded, her eyes bright.

"That's right, Ludo."

His eyes were sad, but she turned away and looked at Toby.

"We won, Toby," she said.

He didn't contradict her.

"Are you ready to go home?"

He didn't say yes or no, but luckily it wasn't up to him.

She turned away slowly and began to walk back to the main door.

She had gone nearly all the way and stood just inside the threshold when she heard Erik call to her.

He took the baby carefully and passed him off to Christine, who took him off down the hall, bouncing him in her arms and chatting animatedly. Then he turned his eyes back to Sarah.

His face was flushed slightly, his eyes warm and sweet; his thin lips curved in a smile as he looked at her.

"Its been real," she said before he could say anything, and the smile turned into a laugh. He laughed so hard he nearly choked. "What? What did I say?"

"Your talent for understatement," he gasped in between chuckles, shaking his head, "never fails to amaze me."

She scoffed at him

"I have to go home now. My parents will be wondering where I am."

"But— wait!"

She turned back to him, but looked at the ground.

He tipped his head to the side, looking down at her.

"Don't you want to say goodbye?" he inquired gently.

The tears she'd been holding back now overflowed, and she stumbled forwards and clasped her arms around him.

"No!" she sobbed into his coat.

Erik laughed slightly, and put his arms around her. "Listen, child, do you even know how to get home? Its not a case of clicking your heels and wishing, you know—"

She got a hold on herself and let him go, dashing the tears from her eyes with her fingers.

"No," she sniffed, shaking her head.

"I will show you," he said. He took her by the hand and led her back into the castle, back past the wreckage of the clock on the floor, and to a large and ornately carved chest that proved, once he opened it, to hold hundreds of Jareth's crystals. Erik picked one out, turning it around in his long fingers, and tossed it to her.

"These," he said, "will take you wherever you want to go. You can take as many of them as you like, and come back here for a visit any time you wish."

She sniffed mightily and examined the crystal.

"Are you sure I can take some of them?"

He laughed again, spread his arms wide. "Who's going to stop you?"

She nodded, and looked up at him almost shyly.

"Are— are you going to take some as well?"

He sobered slightly.

"No," he said. "No, I do not want to have occasion to come back here again. Things that seem games to a young person are heartbreaks to an older one. I would not ever wish to return."

She nodded.

"And so," he said, "when you tell me goodbye you had better make it worth my while."

When she looked up, the gentle smile was back on his face again— it invited her and welcomed her and beckoned to her.

She set the crystal down on the pile and went to him.

He leaned down, and she pressed her lips to his forehead— starting in the middle, and a trail of kisses down to his temple, arms about his neck. He had his hands behind his back, bent down almost double, that smile on his face;she let him go and they smiled at each other.

"Time to go," she said, rejoicing in the feeling of being the one who made the decisions, the feel of choosing things of her own free will. There was a time and a place for everything, and now it was time to go home.

Erik stood, his arm around Christine, and watched as she and Toby, the chest of crystals with them, were enveloped and taken in by the crystal she held in her hand— they grew smaller and smaller, Sarah's smile and her eyes fixed on Erik's face, until they disappeared from view.

Then he heaved a sigh.

Bending to pick up a crystal to transport Christine and himself back to where they belonged, he took her arm and led her to the door. They stood on the steps and looked out over the Labyrinth below them, deceptively peaceful in the dawning light.

The Labyrinth knew its own, protected its own— its ruler would soon return, and things would go back to normal—

If they ever had been normal in the first place, that is.

Erik tossed the crystal up in the air and caught it.

"Well," he said to no one in particular, "that's that."

Soon the glimmer of the mask was all that remained of them, and even that faded from view, leaving the steps empty. The sun rose over the Labyrinth, and a new day began.

I would like to tell you that Erik and Christine remained true to each other ever after; that Sarah grew up into a worthy woman, changed for the better by her otherworldly experiences. But I can only tell you the story as I know it— everything thereafter was up to them. They made their choices, they made their decisions, they lived their lives.

And that's the truth.

* * *

**A/N: Slightly hysterical thank yous to some awesome reviewers, most of whom I think followed me over here from the POTO section: Adison, Velf, LuvinLivnReadn, Musique et Amour, hikari-no-tsubasa, theScarlettWeasel, MollyTheWanderer, Rooklyn, Sandra, blondearianne, Circe Rose, wendela,  
Renee17, Tango1, Padme Nijiri, Midnight Lady, Moonjava, Erianna Abyss, DarkPriestessofAssimbya, VictoriaTai, Trecebo, Starleena, DeannaM, and the dedicated thudderTwisted :) I'm glad you liked it. Or, at least, you told me you liked it, and if you didn't, then I'm glad you lied to me to protect my fragile ego. See you around!**

**Also thanks especially to Padme Nijiri and Musique et Amour, respectively, for pointing out some editing errors. Thanks guys!**


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